


Cake and Other Curses

by AkashaTheKitty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, Drama, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humour, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 08:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14690027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkashaTheKitty/pseuds/AkashaTheKitty
Summary: Hermione is far too fond of cake and all but attached to Harry at the hip. Generally, it's working out for her, but lately Draco has been annoying her to death by mocking her weight and her relationship with Harry. One day she spots some logic in his claims that she and Harry ought to be more than friends. Uncertain how to proceed, she agrees when Draco volunteers to help. This turns out to get very confusing very fast, as Hermione finds herself becoming attracted to the wrong person...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted to LiveJournal and Hawthorn & Vine in **March 2012**. This is a repost.
> 
> Thank you to **mazvn** and **little_dollface** for the beta, **handiangel** for the Britpick, and **imane nikko** for the extra beta on 9+10. You guys are brilliant. :)

Hermione smoothed her new formal robes down over her stomach and turned sideways, scrutinising her own mirror image. Damn it. She’d kept accumulating weight this past year from sitting—and eating—far too much and exercising far too little. Damn the Ministry’s canteen for having such delicious cake. Usually, she wasn’t really one for sweets, but that cake... She needed to start bringing her own lunch, otherwise she’d balloon into something she wouldn’t be able to change.

"You’re not fat!" a voice boomed from her fireplace and she whirled around. "Now, get your big bum over here!"

"Harry!" she scolded. "I told you not to do that. One of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack."

"I don’t want to be late and you’re obviously ready, so let’s go."

She shot a last look at her mirror and then grabbed her handbag. She wasn’t going to lose any weight by glaring at her own image, anyway.

* * *

"I’m nervous," Harry muttered, lending truth to his statement by wiping his hands on his very expensive-looking dark formal robes. The same robes he usually wore. It was so unfair how men could get away with that.

Hermione nudged him. "Don’t do that. And you’ll be fine."

"I’m no good at impressing people," he whinged.

"You’re The Boy Who Lived. You impress people by existing."

He sighed. "That was years ago, Hermione. Now I’m merely another department head trying to get enough funding to do my job."

"And you never seem to fail, do you? Go on, then. I’ll be right here."

Harry groaned but reluctantly approached a middle-aged, well-polished witch who certainly never indulged in cake. "Madam Damerell?" he politely said.

She gave him a haughty once-over that ended with his scar. The transformation in her was complete as she was suddenly all smiles and charm. "Oh, please, call me Alodia."

Hermione suppressed a sigh. One of those. Harry would most likely be frazzled beyond belief within the hour. She put a supportive hand on his arm, hoping to keep him grounded, and smiled at the other witch when he introduced them.

Alodia Damerell immediately noticed the small gesture and lit up with glee. "Oh, marvellous! Can we expect something official soon, then?"

Hermione blinked and then quickly removed her hand and stared at Harry, who immediately raised his own hands in protest. "No, no. Hermione and I are very old friends. She’s like a sister to me."

"Oh." The other witch was clearly disappointed at the lack of juicy gossip. It was aggravating. She should know better by now; they all should. "I see. And you’re quite certain of that..?"

"Quite," Harry immediately said. "In fact, Hermione has somewhere else to be now; don’t you, Hermione?" He shot her a pleading look.

She immediately took the hint and nodded, giving Alodia Damerell another smile. "It was very nice meeting you," she said, quickly turning around and walking away.

That was the thing about being Harry’s friend these days. They were both high profile, single and seeing quite a lot of each other. Add to that that neither of them had any desire to go out with anyone new right now... some people simply jumped to the convenient conclusion.

She snatched a drink from a passing tray and took a sip without even tasting the liquid. Why was it that people always required for everyone else to be paired up? After Ron and she had drifted apart, she hadn’t particularly felt like she needed someone else to take his place; and she knew that Harry still missed Ginny, who’d left to focus on her career in Quidditch after they’d had a falling out.

"Did your boyfriend banish you again, Granger?" a voice said close to her ear. She didn’t even flinch. He always did this. She wasn’t certain why, but the past couple months he’d found it more amusing than ever to be her own personal nuisance.

"Not my boyfriend," she monotonously replied without even looking at Malfoy.

"Isn’t it about time to drop the pretence?" he asked. "I mean, you’re beginning to show."

That immediately got her attention and her eyes snapped to his. "I am _not_ showing _anything_!"

He was part of the reason she was feeling so self-conscious about the recent swelling of her hips and belly. He was always making fun of her, making her feel like this awkward thing that couldn't quite measure up at these events. It didn’t help that he was right. She absolutely didn’t fit in. She had no desire to be constantly featured in _Witch Weekly_. She only wanted to be able to do her job well.

Unfortunately, this was part of doing her job well.

He grinned, delighted that she’d taken the bait. "I even heard you’re shopping for a house together. Yeah, that’s friendly."

"Ever hear of housemates, Malfoy? Some of us like to have someone to share the bills and chores with." And she was desperate to get out of her flat. It would be so nice to have a whole house, only shared with Harry. Maybe there’d even be a garden. She missed sitting out in the garden in summer.

"That’s what trust funds and hired help is for."

She snorted. It was so typical of him to flaunt his privilege. "Do feel free to hire help for me and pay my rent."

"Now, now, Granger. Deals like that usually come with a bit of... obligation."

"Not on your life." It was a redundant statement. He hadn’t meant it as an offer. He’d only meant to bother her. That was all he ever did—bother her. It was even his bloody job to bother her! Every single change she attempted to make to his precious pure-blood privileges was immediately and powerfully blocked by him and others like him and she’d only managed to get a few minor—albeit slowly becoming larger—concessions through by playing nice. Or, rather, whatever this could be called. As long as she kept him in a fairly good mood by indulging his need to mock her, he’d allow a trickle of decency to seep through the century-old bigotry.

Really, it could have been worse. At least Malfoy seemed to be holding this job to please his own warped sense of humour rather than because he cared overly much. Any other pure-blood that might take his place would be worse. So, she pleased him. By allowing him to bother her. But she’d be damned if she’d validate his ‘banter’ by expending what limited energy she had on clever comebacks.

"Besides, it’s rather clever of you to shack up with him first."

"We’re not _shacking up_ ," she wearily insisted.

"I mean, all those lonely nights... It’ll be so convenient to be able to huddle together without having to make prior arrangements."

"We’ll have separate bedrooms."

"Mm, that spare bedroom will come in handy once Mini Potter makes his—or her—appearance."

" _I’m not pregnant!_ " she growled.

He sighed. "No, I suppose you aren’t."

She arched an eyebrow. He had been doing this same old routine for weeks now and suddenly he decided to change part of it? Something was off.

"Or," he amended, "if you were, you should be able to keep your man’s attention better. I mean, look at him!" He made a hopeless gesture to where Harry was now talking to a young, pretty witch with no less money than Madam Damerell. "When are you going to make an honest man of him so the rest of us stand a chance with others?"

She snorted. "I hear you get your fair share of attention, Malfoy."

"Rumours are always vastly exaggerated. You of all people should know that. I would stand a far better chance of getting the attention of a quality witch like that if your lover didn’t constantly get in the way, hogging all of them with his stupid scar."

"That would happen even if he married."

"True. But he’d be _married_ , whereas I would be charming, handsome, rich and _single_."

She couldn’t help the inelegant sound that erupted when she tried to squash her laughter. "Two out of four is something, I suppose."

"No, really. I promise you that I’m also rich and single."

She rolled her eyes. She supposed he considered his own obnoxious tendency to want to constantly poke fun of her charming. As for his looks... he wasn’t really ugly, but she thought that maybe he could use some   
of that cake they served at the Ministry canteen. He had a gaunt, almost haunted look to him that was completely at odds with the way he constantly made jokes at her expense. At first she’d figured his behaviour was merely a front to deflect attention from whatever was causing that look, but after a while she’d resigned herself to the fact that this was merely who he was. Draco Malfoy, the hollow-eyed jester.

"Don’t you have anything better to do than talk to me?" she asked, dropping a heavy hint.

"As a matter of fact, I don’t," he said. "All the quality witches are lining up for Potter, and I don’t really need to schmooze anyone tonight. You’ve been slacking off at work. You’re hardly even trying to change the world these days. If this continues, I’ll soon be unemployed."

Right. Because he needed employment. And what was this insinuation that she wasn’t a quality witch? Condescending git! "I’ll have you know that I’m working on something even you can’t stop."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

"No, it’s a fact. You might as well not bother."

He sighed. "You really have to try harder than that, Granger. It’s no fun if you don’t even try."

Yes, she was purely here for his amusement. "Tell you what... if you guarantee I get four parts of my proposal through, I’ll give you a fight to remember."

"How many parts do you have?"

"Six."

"Not going to happen."

She scowled at him. "You don’t even know what they’re about!"

"No, but four out of six is a terrible track record for me."

"Three, then."

"No."

"Fine," she ground out and stared straight ahead at Harry, who was by now looking far more relaxed. Apparently Madam Damerell hadn’t hounded him too badly. That was good. Hermione hated seeing him so stressed out.

Malfoy sighed. "Again, you’re no fun. Fine, I’ll give you two. But only if you put up a damn good fight. One for the ages."

"Forget it."

"Pouting doesn’t suit you, Granger. You know that two is better than none."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Perhaps. But there are limits to what I’ll do for it."

"What? You won’t do what you will otherwise have to do anyway? You’ll throw away any guarantee you have of achieving anything simply to spite me? How very sporting of you." He frowned at her.

"You know you like to keep me dancing," she pointed out.

"That’s merely an added bonus."

"No more pregnancy jokes."

"Aww." He looked genuinely disappointed.

"No more pregnancy jokes and two parts and I’ll do it."

He sighed. "You drive a hard bargain. All right. I suppose it was getting old anyway."

Hermione hid a smile. Two parts was what she’d been aiming for all along and it was almost too good to be true that she got the added bonus of no more pregnancy jokes.

"But, Granger..." he continued. "I decide which parts. So you’ll still have to do well."

Oh, she knew she wasn’t getting anything for free from him. He was, after all, Draco Malfoy. But she also knew that he could be swayed. Obnoxious though he was, he’d let her have at least one of the parts she really wanted if she showed enough passion about it. And she knew just the one. Controlling and limiting her success whilst actually letting her _have_ some victories was his way of making certain that she’d continue to endure his mean-spirited company whenever he felt like inflicting it on her.

Alodia Damerell chose that moment to walk by and take in who Hermione was conversing with, immediately getting a sour-faced judgemental look.

Hermione suppressed a sigh. "Don't tell me that Damerell is one of _those_ pure-bloods... She didn't seem to mind me so much before."

Malfoy didn’t even pretend he didn’t know what she meant. "Damerell is a prissy old thing. Blood is only a small factor in how she measures status, and the faded mark on my arm makes me worth less than even the dirtiest thieving Squib. So, no, it's not you she disapproves of."

"I don’t appreciate the implication of all Squibs being dirty and thieving."

"And I don’t appreciate you missing my point," he snapped. He would sometimes do that, show small flashes of temper. Hermione hadn’t been able to spot any kind of pattern in when it would happen. One minute he would snap, and the next he would smile when she said something far more offensive. It never fazed her, though, and he always seemed to get over it fairly quickly.

"There really is no point. That’s how most of us see the mark." The words were out before she could check herself and she flinched. She hadn’t meant to be quite that harsh.

He simply looked at her, no emotion whatsoever on his face, his temper back under control. "I know. I’m tainted. It must be hard for you to tolerate my influence over your work."

It was. But not for that reason. "No, I’m thrilled that you’re thwarting all my attempts at making this a better world."

He smiled. But it was a smile without warmth or humour. "The wizarding world can’t handle that many changes all at once. You should be thanking me for limiting the changes, making it an easier transition."

She shook her head. "You have an unfailing talent for making my head hurt, Malfoy. Congratulations. You did it again!" She snatched a fresh drink from a new tray and searched out a table where she could sit in peace and quite possibly get pissed.

Malfoy followed her and sat down next to her uninvited. "If you took Potter off the market so any of these witches would _see_ me, I'd be very distracted and your problem would be solved."

Hermione made a half-hearted gesture towards a pretty young witch who looked like she hardly knew what to do with herself. "There’s a damsel over there. Go save her."

"Saving is Potter’s business. Besides, she could be no more than sixteen or so. I prefer adults."

"She’s at least seventeen. They don’t invite minors to these things."

"All right... then she’s seventeen. It hardly makes a difference. Besides, look at those big eyes she’s making at Potter. How could I possibly consider someone who hero worships him like that?"

"You’re quite obsessed with Harry, aren’t you?" Hermione observed.

"In a manner of speaking. I’m obsessed with minimising his impact on my life."

"And you figure the solution is me."

He leant forward, imploring her with a strangely intense look. "Yes. Think about it, Granger."

"No, thank you."

He didn’t relent. "Who is the first one you contact if you have a problem you can’t solve on your own?"

She snorted. "That’s easy. Harry. He _is_ known for his problem-solving skills, after all."

"Who’s the first one you run to for comfort if you’re upset?" he continued.

"My _best friend._ "

"Who do you go out with to parties and dinners and amusements?"

"I'm not playing this game with you any longer."

"And who will you be entering into what is basically a sexless marriage with?"

She downed the last of her drink and shook her head before looking around for more. "It’s not a sexless marriage."

"Uh-huh. Then what is it?" He looked insufferably smug. Annoying git.

"Two _friends_ sharing a house!" she insisted.

"And going out with only each other. And doing absolutely everything together. Face it, Chubs. You may be so used to each other that there’s no flutter, but you’re mentally married."

"Did you just call me Chubs?"

"The point, Granger!"

She glowered at him. He was wrong. She could never see Harry that way.

* * *

A couple of hours and several drinks later, Hermione was staring at Harry, contemplating. He wasn’t ugly. And he had a kind of... charm, she hadn’t noticed before. And Malfoy was right that the witches were positively swarming around him.

Harry was laughing and being polite but seemed a bit distanced from them all. She cocked her head, wondering why that might be.

"Don’t you ever get tired of looking at him?" Malfoy asked from next to her, sounding both bored and annoyed.

She flushed a little. "Where else would I look?" she asked, stumbling a bit over the words. She frowned, wondering when speaking had become so difficult.

Malfoy sniggered. "You’re smashed."

"A little bit," she admitted.

"I should take advantage of that."

"Yeah, how?" she asked, still watching Harry.

Malfoy sighed. "You’re no fun when your IQ drops. You know that, right?"

Her head snapped to the side to glare at him. "What do you—oh." Belatedly, she registered the words. "Ew. Besides, you wouldn’t."

He raised an eyebrow. "You think too highly of my morals, I think."

"No, I didn’t mean you wouldn’t do that. " Although, quite frankly, she did have her doubts. "I meant you wouldn’t to _me_."

"You having some misconception that I respect you more than others, then?"

Did she really have to spell it out? She sighed irritably. "No, I’m saying that the way you keep calling me fat, I don’t believe I have anything to fear from you."

He looked at her for a long moment and it struck her how he’d developed dark shadows under his eyes in the time they’d sat here, making his gauntness stand out even more. And were those strained lines around his mouth? But then again, he must be bored. He hadn’t even been drinking to pass the time.

"I think you underestimate my current desperation."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. If you were going to, you wouldn’t have warned me. You would have got me more drinks and pretended to want to see me safely home."

"I see you have it all mapped out in your head. Interesting."

She snorted. "Almost any woman will have had some man trying to do that to her." It never ceased to horrify her just how many men like that existed. If Malfoy ever turned out to be one, she might just have to cease making—somewhat—nice with him.

"And did it work?"

"No." She didn’t say anything more than that. He didn’t need to hear the gritty details of the one and only time she’d let her guards completely down after Ron and then had had to hex the pushy bugger before she’d fled to Harry’s flat.

"Good girl," Malfoy breathed.

She snorted, not quite certain what he meant by that. She certainly hoped he wasn’t the kind to claim it was the woman’s job to make sure she wasn’t assaulted, because then she might just have to hex him too.

"Are you ready to go?" Harry asked and Hermione started. She hadn’t seen him approaching.

She nodded, slightly unsteadily getting to her feet and walking away without another look or word in Malfoy’s direction. That was how it worked. He showed up everywhere, so there really was no point in saying goodbye. In a few hours, he’d be there again. Harry simply nodded at Malfoy and then followed her.

"I’m sorry if you were bored," he immediately said when they were outside. "I had no idea that I’d be busy all night."

She’d known. She’d tried this before. "I wasn’t bored." Her voice was still slurred, so she made an extra effort to enunciate. "I was negotiating with Malfoy. I won two parts and the fat jokes. Well, the pregnancy ones at least. I fear he may have invented a nickname instead."

"Parts?"

She waved a hand. "Work thing."

Harry shook his head. "I don’t understand why you won’t let me get rid of him for you."

"Because he’s the better option!" she said for the billionth time. "Anyone else might actually do their job. And you know they still have most of the money. No, two parts and the pregnancy jokes is better than nothing at all."

"But he constantly insults you!"

She waved that off as well. "They all want to. At least he’s honest. It doesn’t bother me."

"No, that’s why you’re suddenly on a _diet_."

"I’m only looking out for my health!"

He made a rude sound. "You’re the healthiest person I know."

"Not if I keep eating that cake, I’m not."

He sighed and gave up on the argument, leaving them each to walk on in silence. They didn’t really need to walk anywhere, but usually after a night of stuffy Ministry arrangements they both wanted a bit of fresh air, so they wandered around for a while before each Apparating home.

She looked up at Harry. He’d always had a propensity to brood, but lately it had been worse. She knew he wasn’t happy. He missed Ginny. Unlike Hermione, he hadn’t been out with a single person since he’d had that last fight with Ginny that had sent her storming off to intensive training and a year’s worth of international Quidditch matches.

"We’re really good friends, aren’t we?" Hermione asked, putting her arm around his waist, trying very hard not to walk into him whilst looking up at him.

That elicited a small smile from him and he put his arm around her as well, giving her a small squeeze. "Surprised you even have to ask, Hermione."

"You’re my best friend," she muttered, frowning, considering. "I mean, I know that Ron is _your_ best friend and I don’t mind being simply a very good friend, all I’m saying is that _you_ are _my_ best—" She abruptly cut off. She was babbling. This was getting embarrassing fast.

He shook his head. "Who says I can’t have two best friends?"

"Well... per definition one of us wouldn’t be the best, I don’t think."

"You’re my bestest girl-friend. I believe that should rank alongside my other best friend, shouldn’t it?"

She stared up at him. "Your what-now?"

He grinned. "I’m sorry. Woman-friend. Friend with female attributes. Friend I can be incredibly unmanly around without things getting awkward."

She stared up at him. He was so familiar. They’d known each other forever, it seemed, and since Ginny had gone off and Ron and Hermione had slipped apart, it had seemed like it had mostly been the two of them. Granted, Harry still saw Ron every day at work; but after work, it was usually only the two of them. Ron’s girlfriend wasn’t happy about him seeing Hermione, and Harry refused to humour an outsider. Hermione figured that Ron would eventually come around if he was any kind of friend at all. Until then... at least Harry wasn’t leaving her behind.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked, noticing her pensive look.

"That it’s odd... how feelings work."

He laughed and squeezed her again, kissing her hair. "You’ve got that right."


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione pursed her lips and stared down at the empty parchment in front of her. It was Monday morning and she was really supposed to be working. She’d like to say that she was thinking, but there were too many thoughts she needed to think for her to settle on any one of them. So, basically, she just sat there with a buzzing in her brain that didn’t help anyone.

"You have to actually do some work to deliver on your promise," a voice said from her door and she jumped in her seat.

"I am working!"

"No... you’re not. I’ve gone past this door three times already and each time found you in the same state." Malfoy leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. "If you don’t deliver, then neither will I."

Hermione sighed. "I’ll fight for it, all right? I just... have some other things to work out first. Set up a meeting for this afternoon if you’d like."

"Can’t. Pitch me at lunch."

"I can’t do that."

"Why?"

Because that would involve either going near cake or letting Malfoy see her tiny, boring, depressingly healthy packed lunch. "Simply can’t. Set it up for tomorrow, then."

"Can’t. Going away for a while."

She frowned at him. "Where?"

"Holiday."

"You just _had_ a holiday!"

"Yeah, and now I’m having another."

She stared at him. Of course he’d be one to have two holidays right on top of each other. "Postpone the holiday, then."

"No can do. You either have to make time today or wait a week or two. You know you won’t get anything through without my approval."

She considered pointing out that she actually did hold the sway to get something through without securing the support of the ‘Old Families’ as they liked to call themselves these days. The problem with that was that she would probably raise hell both inside the Ministry and out, and there would be no telling what the long-term consequences of such an action would be. For now, it would be better to soothe their egos and slowly chip away at the system. So, instead, she scowled at him.

He smirked. "The cake won’t attack you, Granger," he said, making her eyes widen.

Sometimes she really hated how well her opposition knew her.

* * *

Not much later, Hermione found herself glowering at Malfoy. "This is so unfair!"

"What is?" he said, leisurely eating.

"You had your way—as you always do—and now _this_?" She was gobsmacked. Never had she thought he would be so... so... _evil_!

He raised an eyebrow. "I’m sorry. Did you want some?"

She narrowed her eyes, trying to kill him with her look.

He’d finished his—rather small—meal minutes ago and then got... cake. She knew he only did it to mess with her. He’d never showed any interest in it before. He didn’t even seem like he enjoyed the deliciousness very much, for crying out loud!

She did her best to ignore the cake and the way that, yes, she _did_ want some and said, "Do I get my two parts, then?"

"I don’t know..."

"You promised!"

"That was before I knew that it would involve more taxes on the Old Families."

She made a derisive sound. How she hated this new term for the boils on their society. "I’m not taxing anyone for being an old family, only for being _rich_. Poor bigots won’t be affected."

He shot her a sharp look that served as a reminder that he could only be pushed as far as he allowed himself to be pushed. "The concern stands," he said, his voice controlled. "You don’t want to provoke them too much. These days, the money is all some of them have left and they’re clinging to it with all their might."

"I’m not talking about taking all of it away!"

"No, you’re talking about taking a significant portion of their money and investing it in better racial integration. I think that’s a bad idea. If you’re going to take their money, at least use it for something they won’t mind."

"Like what?"

He shrugged. "St Mungo’s could use better funding for research into both magical maladies and more common diseases, for instance."

"That’s not my area, and you know it."

"Then talk to the people whose area it is."

"But that’s not what I want to achieve!" Although, granted, it was still a worthy cause.

"Listen to me, Granger. If those taxes go to better hospital funding, then it might be possible to cut some of the old funding and re-allocate it to... somewhere else you and other involved parties might see fit. Nothing I would know anything about, of course."

"You’re talking about a bureaucratic nightmare over semantics."

"It’s your best bet. I can clear a decision meant to fund the hospital, but not a decision meant to embrace other species openly in a way that will probably create more half-species."

She stared at him, envisioning hours and hours of meetings and paperwork. "Then I’m going to need some of that cake."

He grinned and pushed his plate towards her.

* * *

Hermione was looking at her bedroom mirror again. It was a rather unforgiving mirror. Good thing that Malfoy had gone on holiday so he wouldn’t comment on what she was up to when she got in at work today. She sucked in her gut and pushed out her chest, evaluating the look. Maybe she needed some sort of necklace to draw attention to her cleavage? She considered for a bit and then rolled her eyes, exhaling. What was she even doing? Since when had Harry even looked at her chest?

Harry.

She was still unconvinced that their relationship could translate into something else, but she’d acknowledged that _if_ it could, it might possibly be the best thing that had ever happened to either of them. It could be the relationship she’d hoped for but never had with Ron.

The mature way to go about gauging the potential for chemistry would be to talk it over with Harry and then to agree on a way to test the waters, so to speak. But truthfully she’d rather die than do that. It would be absolutely mortifying if he laughed at her or, worse, let her down gently.

No, it would be better to test for chemistry without actually letting him know what she was doing.

The only problem was that she had no clue how to do it.

* * *

"Hermione! Uh... what are you doing here?" Harry looked rather confused to see her.

No wonder. She never usually went down to the Aurors’ office. If she wanted something from Harry, she sent him a note. It wasn’t that she was terribly opposed to interrupting him whilst he was working, it was more of a safety measure so she wouldn’t run into Ron. It might be petty of her, but she’d decided that as long as he wouldn’t openly be her friend, she wouldn’t see him at all.

She attempted a smile, but she felt so nervous that it became a grimace. "Is it so wrong to want to see how my best friend is doing?"

Her nervous mood didn’t escape him. "What’s wrong?"

She sighed. "Nothing... I was simply wondering..."

"Yes?"

This was harder than she’d thought. And she’d thought it would be hard. "Want to go out tonight?" she blurted out. Yes, it was probably better to do this out of the workplace. All this worrying about cleavages and gut-sucking didn't work here.

"On a week day?"

"Why not? We’re adults. We can control our fun, can’t we?"

He grinned. "Like you controlled your fun on Saturday?"

"Hey! I was stuck with Malfoy then! It was drink or kill."

Harry laughed out loud at that. "All right. I don’t have any plans. Maybe we can talk some more about the house we want."

Hermione smiled. "I’d like that."

* * *

Fifteen days and far too many drinks to suit Hermione’s diet later, she realised that she was absolutely rubbish at this. No matter how often she went out with Harry, how drunk they became, or how intimate their conversations were, she couldn’t seem to take that last step and _do_ something to see if they could be suited for each other.

It was the fear. The fear of being rejected by her best friend was really daunting. It didn’t matter what she could potentially gain—as long as she had no reason to believe that he might be open to suggestions, she couldn’t make herself do anything.

"Miss me?" Malfoy was at her office door again, pasty and tired-looking as ever.

"You certainly don’t look like you just had a holiday."

"I got the flu. Spent half the time in bed."

"Karma."

"Perhaps. I’d planned on spending that time in bed anyway. I’d only hoped for company and a different kind of heat." He flashed her a grin that was completely belied by the weary expression in his eyes. "Move in with Potter yet?"

"Almost."

"Are you making it official, then?"

She sighed and rested her head on her hands. "Welcome back, Malfoy. Please go away."

She heard him chuckling, but thankfully he did as asked.

* * *

Another function, another set of new robes. Hermione sighed to herself. If she had to keep going to these things, she was going to need a rise to cover her expenses. She'd tried wearing the same robes twice one time and she'd taken such a society page beating for it that she had dutifully bought new ones ever since then. It was ridiculous; she didn't need that many robes, but it was simply one of those things she had to endure because such was the snobbery in this world.

"Ready?" Harry asked from the fireplace and she obediently went with him.

Tonight she had to do... something. She'd come quite close to flirting the last time they'd been out, she felt. Maybe if she got Harry smashed and then quizzed him on his favourite types of witches.

Of course, he was likely to talk about feisty little redheads, but it was worth a go.

"You're so quiet tonight," Harry said as they approached the venue. "But I assume you won't tell me what's wrong this time either?"

She forced a smile. "It's nothing."

"You don't have to be afraid to confide in me."

She winced. Maybe not normally, but this time... yeah, no. "It's nothing, really. I'm simply tired."

He nodded. "I know. We've been going out too much."

"No, it's been fun!" she half-heartedly objected whilst secretly agreeing with him.

"Yes, but let's face it, Hermione. We're not twenty any longer."

She snorted. "We're not even thirty, either!"

"No, but I still feel it when I don't get my beauty sleep."

She sighed. "And here I thought you _liked_ going out with me."

"I do!" he immediately said, soothing her ego. "But... less is more."

Hermione cringed inwardly. She seemed to be doomed at this whole thing. Maybe she should simply get him drunk, steal a kiss, and then blame it on her own drunkenness. Because she would _really_ need to fortify herself with drink as well.

Harry laid a hand on her arm moments before they were to enter the room. "Don't take this the wrong way, Hermione, but could we enter separately this time? I don't want another news article saying that we're secretly going out... and after we’ve been out so much lately..."

Hermione pursed her lips. If anyone had already seen them together, then going in separately would be even worse. "If that's what you want."

He nodded and went ahead.

She gave it a few minutes and then pasted on her social smile and went in.

* * *

"Pathetic," a voice murmured near Hermione's ear.

She didn't jump. It had been a given that he'd eventually do this. She was only secretly quite pleased that she’d been allowed to fortify herself with several drinks before she had to justify herself to him.

She slowly turned around to face Malfoy, feigning ignorance. "What is?"

"I saw the two of you come in separately. It's the worst pretence I've ever seen."

Of course _he_ had noticed that. "Harry doesn't want any more headlines."

" _Harry_ should suck it up and act like an adult!" Malfoy hissed.

Hermione stared at him. His temper flares were nothing new, but it was the first time that she’d heard so much venom in his voice, even when it came to Harry.

"What's wrong?" she couldn't help but ask, suddenly noticing how tonight Malfoy's skin had gone beyond pasty and on to sallow, and he had little beads of perspiration on his forehead.

"Nothing. Why?"

"You look... ill."

He shook his head. "Not ill. Tired."

"Your eyes are sunken."

"Yes, because I'm _tired_. Tell me, Granger—is it really true that neither of you has had the courage to do anything about your relationship yet?"

She blinked. Obviously he wasn’t going to talk about his health. "Our relationship is fine," she said, more than a little annoyed that he wouldn’t give it a rest.

"So there is one?"

"We're friends."

He sighed. "Why do you... I thought you'd heard some of what I said last time!"

"I did hear it."

"I don't think you did."

She scowled at him. He would never let this go, would he? Perhaps a spot of honesty would shut him up. "Will you promise not to be obnoxious if I tell you something? As in, if you make a single joke out of this, I will make sure that your precious family line ends with you."

He laughed at that. "It already does, Chubs, but go on ahead."

She blinked at his admission. _Really?_ She reluctantly decided against asking him what he meant with that—even though her curiosity was eagerly prompting her to—because something like this would probably be extremely personal. She wasn’t comfortable indulging in that kind of sharing with Malfoy of all people.

"I tried," she simply said.

"He turned you down?"

"No. I... tried, but I didn't know how to come onto him without risking more than I was gaining."

"Come again?"

In for a sickle... he’d _better_ not use this against her. "I don't know how to read that kind of body language," she admitted. "I've only ever really been with Ron, so I’m rather unused to this and I'm _not_ going to try to kiss him unless I think there's a good chance he won't reject me."

Malfoy stared at her. "But you want to, right?"

She shrugged. She supposed. Maybe? She wasn't completely certain. But she had to try in case she was missing out on something, didn’t she? Wasn’t that the logical thing to do? "Of course."

"Then that's all there is to it."

For someone who’d spent a lot of time nagging her into this, he certainly didn’t have a lot of understanding for her predicament. "No, it’s really not. I mean, look at those other witches." She made a helpless notion towards Harry’s inevitable group of hero worshippers. "Look at his _ex_. Say what you want about Ginny, but I’ve rarely met someone as pretty as her. She only seems to get prettier every year, unlike some of us."

Malfoy frowned as if confused. "Are you saying that Potter is shallow?"

"No, of course not! I’m merely saying... there’s no reason why he should be physically attracted to me. Not unless I find a way to appeal to him. Physically." She knew she perhaps stressed the physical aspect a little more than she had to, but since that was the only new piece introduced to the puzzle of their relationship, it had better be good in order to make everything fit.

"I see. And how do you plan on doing that?"

She snorted. "Therein lies the rub. I have no idea."

There was a brief hesitation as he seemed to consider, before he reluctantly said, "Would you believe me if I said I did?"

"Did what?"

"Have ideas. About how you could... appeal. Physically."

She rolled her eyes. "Let me guess... straighten my hair, lose weight, and shut up?"

"I think it would serve you well to do at least one of those things from time to time," he shot back.

She ignored his jab. "How could you help me? You claim Harry steals all witches worth going out with, but since he’s hardly even looking at them, _he_ obviously doesn’t think they are all that interesting."

"So what if Potter and I don’t find the same witches ‘interesting’? It’s your looks we’re changing, not your entire personality. Unfortunately for him, he seems to like your personality well enough. As for your looks, you can build your own style around a few pieces of general advice."

"And what’s in it for you?"

He shrugged and shot her one of those insincere smiles she loathed. "I’ll be consoling all those other witches. It’s a thankless job, but someone has to do it."

"Hmm." Hermione really didn’t want to make a habit out of trusting someone as notoriously untrustworthy as Draco Malfoy, yet... it had been a while since he’d done anything truly bad and he did seem eager to get her together with Harry. She didn’t quite buy his reasons, though. "I’m not stupid, you know. If you try anything funny, I’ll realise it."

"Like what?"

"Like claim that Harry would like me better if I shaved my head and began attending orgies."

"I do like the orgy idea."

Of course he would. She didn’t even try to suppress her exasperated groan. "Malfoy..."

He raised his hands and did a fair impression of someone completely innocent. Or he would have if his eyes hadn’t been laughing at her. "All I’m saying is that maybe getting laid wouldn’t be such a bad idea for you. Get rid of some of that nervous energy."

She shook her head. "You’re really not getting off to a good start."

"You want a better start?" he asked, trading the amusement for determination. "All right. Come on." He grabbed her arm and dragged off with her.

"Where are we going?" she asked, following along rather than making a scene, but feeling extremely wary about what he wanted.

"I can’t tell you these things in public, now, can I?" he muttered, hauling her out into some hallway and then trying a few doors until one opened. Then he pushed her in there and closed the door after them.

"Ah, smooth," she grumbled. "Now _our_ illicit affair will be hot news tomorrow." She glanced around. It was some kind of office. Great. People would think they were having mad sex on this desk.

"Maybe that’ll rouse his interest. Now, shut up." He walked closer to her, narrowing his eyes at her lips. "Do you have your lipstick in that handbag of yours?"

"What? Forget your own?" she mocked, fishing it out.

He shot her a _look_ and then glanced at the colour of the stick, before scrutinising her mouth again. It was a strangely intimate act and to her great embarrassment, she blushed. "This colour is all wrong for you," he announced. "You’re a woman who tans easily with brown hair and brown eyes. You shouldn’t wear an insipid colour like pink but rather a deep, warm red. Or a discrete darker colour. Something that either stands out or blends in, not this cutesy washed-out little-girl colour."

"Now you’re an expert on lipstick colours?"

"You don’t really have to do much else to your face," he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, "but do consider adding a thin eyeliner and more mascara. You’ll want your eyes to stand out and mesmerize him, which will then draw him to your mouth. Eye shadow should be reserved for formal events. You don’t really need it at the office and it’s always good to have a little something extra reserved for special occasions."

"Ok, this is weird." She squirmed a little at the way he continued to be closely watching her face. It was never pleasant to have your face dissected like that, but his unwavering gaze made it ten times worse.

"And you need new robes."

"These robes _are_ new!" she objected.

"But they’re all wrong for you."

"Thanks." She was beginning to feel a little bruised. "Why don’t you remind me that I’m looking fat whilst you’re at it?"

"You do look bigger than you actually are."

She gaped at him.

"It’s the robes," he explained. "They narrow at the wrong place for you, resulting in slight bulging both above and below its waistline. Your waist is higher. It’s around here." He lightly touched her sides a little bit below her breasts. "My guess is it always was, but before it didn’t really matter. You could get away with it then."

She flinched. "So what you’re saying is that I should get something like pregnancy robes."

"I’m saying no such thing. Pregnancy robes are made to accentuate the belly and draw attention to it. They would make you look even bigger."

"Oh, that’s a relief!"

He sighed. "You’re so prickly. You’re looking for the body of a teenager, when in reality you have the body of a woman. I know which one I tend to prefer, and I don’t think I’ve met a single adult wizard who’d disagree with me."

She stared at him. He seemed perfectly sincere. If it was a compliment—and she wasn't completely certain it was—it was quite possibly the first one she’d ever heard from him. "Thank you..." she muttered.

He met her eyes for a moment and then looked away. "Lesson number one: tell a person what they want to hear."

"Oh." Suddenly she felt disproportionately foolish, and she was the one who had to look away. "Of course." Then she frowned. "But why are you giving me lessons? I thought this was all about looks. "

"There’s something to be said about presentation as well... in all its forms. It doesn’t matter how pretty you are if you don’t have style, and it doesn’t matter how stylish you are if you can’t open his eyes to it."

"Open his eyes? "

"He’s blinded by almost two decades of friendship, Chubs. It’s a wonder if he sees you as a woman at all at this point. "

"And that’s enough to seduce Harry?" She crossed her arms, oddly self-conscious. She didn’t particularly like being at Malfoy’s mercy like this and she would have to take care what advice she took from him. She still didn’t trust his motives.

He stepped back from her, taking the hint. "No... let’s start with the clothes. We’ll slowly take it from there."

She nodded, and then, done with all her ‘lessons’ for now, hurriedly slipped out of the room. With any luck, nobody would believe she had anything going with Malfoy and she could escape the gossip pages for once.


	3. Chapter 3

Malfoy didn’t show up for work on Monday. It was so typical of him to owl in sick to prolong his weekend. Especially considering the hot new scandal about their illicit affair on page twelve of _Witch Weekly_. Tuesday, he was allegedly there, but Hermione failed to get in touch with him to reschedule the meeting they were supposed to have had on Monday. Of course, there was technically an assistant she could go through, but she’d always found that rather tedious.

Wednesday, he waltzed into her office as if he hadn’t kept her hanging for two days. "I see you disregarded my advice about robes," he said without preamble. "Does that mean you’re going to give me more trouble?"

She scowled at him. "Are you here to reschedule our meeting, Malfoy?"

"I suppose." He shrugged. "We can have the meeting now if you’d like."

"Aren’t you behind on work?"

He grinned, completely unabashed by the implied accusation. "I think you vastly overestimate the amount of work I do."

She glared at him. It was typical of him to rub in how he could get away with doing almost nothing for his pay packet. "I can’t today. I have another meeting in twenty minutes."

That merely made him shrug, apparently not caring much about work at all. "Hm. Too bad. So, about your robes..."

She gave up. Really, anything else would be a waste of her time and energy. She’d have about as much luck attempting to change Malfoy’s values as she would attempting to teach a cat to bark. "I’ll be following your advice the next time I need new ones."

He walked over to her chair and sat down uninvited before he leisurely put his hands behind his neck and shook his head with displeasure and what appeared to be disappointment."I don’t think I was quite clear, Granger. You need to replace all of them if you want to make certain that he'll be interested. He does see quite a lot of you, after all, and a decent neckline could help him see even more of you, to your advantage. Besides... don’t you simply want to look your best?"

He really was a classic example of someone so privileged that he couldn’t imagine anyone else not having the same fortune.

"I don’t have your budget, Malfoy, " she said, enunciating each word very carefully so he might hear them. "I can’t simply replace my wardrobe at a whim."

"Is this your way of trying to get me to pay for it?"

"No!" The very idea horrified her. What kind of person would expect someone else to randomly pay for her wardrobe? Not to mention, what kind of person would jump to the conclusion that it was expected? "In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m in the near-process of purchasing a _house_. I can’t afford all of this."

"So sell some of those formal robes you’ll never wear again back to the shop and use that money to get some everyday wear?" He shrugged like this solution was a given. "That’s what I’d do. Not that I’d need to."

She stared at him. "You can do that?"

"I’ve been told it’s possible, yes. You won’t get what you paid for them, of course, but it should be better than nothing."

"Huh." The thought had never even occurred to her and she had a closet full of the blessed things.

There was that grin again. "For someone really clever, you know surprisingly little about the ways of the world."

That snapped her out of it and she scowled at him again. "Shut up."

He pursed his lips. "Need help shopping for the new robes?"

"No!"

"Too bad. I could see that being fun..." He winked at her and then got up and left.

Yeah, she’d bet. He’d walk around calling her ‘Chubs’ and making bad puns about her weight whilst she suffered the indignity that being measured and probed always was. No, thank you. She’d rather not be subjected to that. But she _was_ going to go buy new robes after work.

* * *

"I approve, Chubs," Malfoy murmured in Hermione’s ear and this time she jumped. She hadn't seen him all day and had thought she'd be safe from him.

She’d been caught sneaking down to buy cake when she’d thought everybody else would be back from lunch. Bugger. He always had such impeccable timing.

She whirled around, feeling extraordinarily guilty. "Of what!?"

"Why, your new robes, of course," he said without even blinking. She noticed the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, though. Cheeky git.

"Yes... I, um, picked them up yesterday. If you’ll excuse me, I’m rather busy."

He raised an eyebrow. "I know you’re not taking that back to your office, and I doubt you’ll be so busy eating that you can’t talk..."

"Aren’t you busy? Isn’t your lunch break over?" She swiftly walked over to a table, hoping he’d take the hint.

Of course he merely followed her and sat down uninvited. As always. "Actually, I’m having a late lunch today."

"But you aren’t eating," she pointed out.

"I’m not hungry."

"You’re too skinny. You should eat."

He grinned at that. "Yes, mother. I’ll grab something later. But right now, I want to talk about your robes."

"You were right about them," she admitted. "Even if your schemes don’t work, this cut does look better on me. So, thank you."

"It’s a common mistake amongst women."

"What is?"

"To buy clothes for the body they wish they had, rather than the one they actually do have."

"Ah." Suddenly she lost all taste for the cake. It was a pity to waste it, but no point in forcing it down when it might as well be gruel for all the enjoyment it gave her. She pushed away the plate.

"You keep taking mentions of your body type as a bad thing," Malfoy quietly observed.

"Nah, it’s just... I wish the Ministry had more stairs." She sounded pitiful to her own ears.

He groaned. "Seriously, Granger. You have curves that many of the stick-figured witches envy. Use them to your advantage!"

She shot him a dubious look. "How?"

"Show the world that you’re comfortable in your own skin and they will stand up and take notice."

She made a face. He expected her to change her entire self-awareness? "Yeah, that sounds easy."

"I never said it would be easy."

"And what do I do about Harry in particular?"

Malfoy seemed to consider that for a few seconds, tilting his head and watching her intensely. "Make him aware that you’re not only his friend but also a warm-blooded witch. Make him notice your body and hint that you have... urges."

"Urges. Right." The only urge she’d had lately was for cake.

"Frankly, it wouldn’t hurt to hint that you miss sex. Especially not if you can be sensual about it."

"And what if I don’t miss it?"

"Trust me. You may not realise it, but you do."

"Oh, is that a fact?" She just barely suppressed the ‘urge’ to roll her eyes.

"The tension in you is palpable, Granger. Your body is desperately trying to get your attention, but you prefer denying, silencing and punishing it over giving it what it really wants and needs."

She snorted, trying to ignore the implications of him watching her like that, whilst reassuring herself that he was _wrong_. "Yes, I punish it so dreadfully. With cake."

"Maybe if you had other pleasurable things in your life, you wouldn’t need the cake to substitute for it."

She bared her teeth at him. He was entering dangerous territory. "Spare me the armchair psychology."

He shook his head and changed the subject. "So, when are you moving in together? I assume you found a place?"

"Not yet. But we plan on having settled on something within the next couple of months."

"You should get this thing out of the way before then."

"Why?"

"So living together won’t be awkward for you, of course. Getting used to living with someone is difficult enough without that added stress."

She really hated listening to him analysing her life. Even if he was probably right about this last bit. "You’re a veritable fount of wisdom these days, aren’t you?"

"If you don’t want my advice, you shouldn’t have asked for it."

He had the shadow of a point there. "I’m sorry." She just wished he would stop _noticing_ things.

"When do you plan on making your next move with Potter?"

She shrugged. "Maybe this weekend? I don’t know."

"You need a better plan than that."

This was becoming unbearable, _fast_. "What exactly do you want from me?"

"A bit more enthusiasm would be a start. " He leaned forward to pin her with a glare. "And if you’d embrace my makeup advice, that would be good too."

"I don’t wear makeup to work."

"You do now. But, remember, no eye shadow."

"You’re annoying, you know that?"

"I’ve been told before."

She sighed irritably. "I think you get off on telling me what to do."

At that he slowly smiled. "You don’t even want to know what gets me off, Granger."

Suddenly, Hermione wished the conversation would go back to where it had been before. This here was entirely off-topic. "Well! Some of us actually do have work to do, so if you’ll excuse me..." She began getting up.

"You didn’t finish your cake."

"You finish it, scrawny. You need it more than I do."

He chuckled, but she didn’t stay to see if he actually ate it. She did have work to do, after all.

* * *

The mirror was more than a little cracked, but apart from Hermione appearing to have three eyes and a rather fragmented face, it didn’t affect her looks too much. Hermione refreshed her dark berry hue lipstick to the best of her ability. This really wasn’t the most reputable of pubs, but tonight Harry had done the asking, so...

And right now, Hermione felt better than she had in ages. The clientele might be a bit rougher around the edges than she was used to, but some of them were quite fit and more of them than usual were shooting her looks and—in one case—even buying her drinks!

Tonight, life was kind of fun.

She smiled at her broken face, hoping the lipstick was something that resembled even in spite of her slightly intoxicated state and the uselessness of the mirror, and then she went back out to the main room.

She’d made it halfway hack to the table where Harry was sitting, having a heated discussion with some other wizard—probably about Quidditch of all things—before she heard a hoarse voice behind her going, "Hermione?"

She slowly turned around. Ron. She hadn’t seen him in months, and now he was _here_? "Yes?"

He looked tired and surprised to see her. "You look... brilliant!"

She glanced around. "Where’s your girlfriend, Ron?"

"Oh." He scratched his neck, looking embarrassed. "She’s at home. She, ah, doesn’t like it here."

"Really? I thought you made it a habit to ditch the things she doesn’t like."

He shook his head. "Don’t be like that, Hermione."

She was surprised herself at the bitterness she felt as she saw him. She’d thought she understood. No, she’d tried _really hard_ to understand, and now she realised that she didn’t. 

The fact of the matter was that Ron had decided that his new girlfriend was more important than his relationship with one of his oldest and closest friends. One time, the two of them had been so close that they’d thought that they’d spend the rest of their lives together. After they’d realised it wouldn’t work, they’d agreed to stay the best of friends and never let anything take that from them.

And then a witch had come along and he’d thrown it all away.

"I’m kind of busy," she said, "so if you don’t mind..."

"I miss you."

She stared at him in disbelief. "That’s your own fault, isn’t it?"

"I know... I know... I’ve been trying to sort that out."

"Well, let me know when you succeed!" She turned her back on him again.

"Wait!" Ron’s voice stopped her in her tracks. "I was wrong."

_Yeah, you were!_ "And what are you going to do about it?"

"You mean, what _did_ I do about it?"

Hermione slowly turned back around. "What?"

"I told her... I told her it was dragon dung to try to control my friendships like that and she had to trust me if we were to be together."

"And how did that go?"

"I’m crashing at Harry’s."

"Harry’s?" She glanced back at Harry. "Was he the one who invited you here?"

"Yeah, how did you know that?"

She narrowed her eyes at Harry and swore under her breath. So _that_ was why he’d suddenly taken her here? So she and Ron could make up? She could appreciate the meaning behind it but not so much the act itself. She felt manipulated. And a little bit hurt. She didn’t appreciate being forced into a position where she either had to forgive and forget on everybody else’s schedule or look heartless.

"Ah." Ron said, interpreting her glare at Harry correctly. "He invited you too? I thought it was odd to see... I’ll go if you want."

"No," she said with a sigh and a wave of her hand. "Come on. Drinks are on Harry tonight!" _And every night for a very long time._

* * *

Many drinks later, Hermione decided she needed some fresh air. Harry and Ron both tried to insist that they needed to go with her, but for one thing, she could hardly come onto Harry with Ron _right there_ , and for another... she wasn’t some helpless little damsel that needed the big strong men’s protection at all times. So she very firmly declined and then left them to their own devices.

She went to the back and pushed open the door, breathing in big gulps of the fresh, cool air before manoeuvring around a very enthusiastic young couple to cool off better in the narrow alley.

"Didn’t your mother ever tell you how dangerous it could be out all alone at night, Granger?"

Hermione almost squeaked with surprise. This time, she had certainly _not_ expected him. She swiftly turned towards the source of the voice. "Are you stalking me, Malfoy?"

He chuckled. "I wish it were anything that pleasant. I couldn’t sleep. This place isn’t likely to have anyone I know... Or so I thought."

He looked tired enough to lend truth to his statement. So he’d merely been looking for a diversion? The thought made her relax somewhat. "Harry and Ron are inside."

"I saw. That’s why I was leaving. Discreetly." He gave her an inscrutable look, probably wondering why she hadn’t made any discernible progress with Harry in spite of all the help he’d given her.

She wrung her hands, feeling the weight of her failed task weighing her down. Malfoy had done everything in his power to help her and she’d done... nothing, really. "I can’t do anything with Ron there."

"That sounds like an excuse to me."

"But what wouldn’t he think?" she insisted.

"He’d find out eventually if you began seeing Potter."

"Yes, _eventually_. After I’m not in danger of making a fool of myself any longer."

He pursed his lips as if she amused him. "The thing about love, though, is that you’re always in danger of making a fool of yourself."

She snorted, not feeling reassured at all. "What do you know about love?" Again she had to cringe at the harshness of her own words. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—"

"Yeah, you did." He watched her for a few moments, making her shrink into herself in shame. "I know more about it than you’d think," he then quietly said. "More than I want to know. I know that when it’s there, it doesn’t simply go away again, no matter how much you want it to. I know it makes you want things you should never want, hope for things that can never happen. I know it makes you want the other one’s happiness, even when the road to it is killing you inside. I know that it makes you a bloody fool _every single day_ because you can’t stop thinking about them, even when they don’t spare you a second glance. I probably know more than you do and I honestly wish I knew less about it."

She stared at him. She’d never even considered that he was capable of such feelings. But of course he was. He was, all evidence to the contrary, a human being. "I’m sorry."

He looked away, his lips twisting in his very own brand of dark amusement once again. "Don’t be. It doesn’t have anything to do with you."

"Who is she?"

"No one."

"But—"

"Leave it alone, Granger!" The statement was just forceful enough to stop her badgering him. For now.

She shrugged. "Maybe we should be helping you, rather than me."

He shot her a wry smile. "You don’t even want to know what would help me right now."

It took a few moments for her alcohol-fogged brains to process his meaning and then she scrunched up her nose. "And here I thought we were having a decent conversation for once!"

He laughed. "Decent? Are you out to ruin my reputation?"

"I don’t get it. Why do you say things like... that?" She shot him a dubious glance and made an uneasy flourish with her hands. "To _me_?"

Fortunately, he didn’t force her to elaborate. "Why not? I’m bored and I’m not invading anyone else’s territory... yet. No harm done. Besides, it’s fun to see you jump away and hide."

She blushed a little, but then reminded herself that he was merely messing around because he was _bored_. "I’m hardly your type."

"What’s my type, then?"

"I don’t know. Beautiful. Skinny. Pure-blood. Someone who’d appreciate your political work."

"Funny... I thought _you_ appreciated my political work."

She gave a confused sort of half-laugh. "What? I appreciate you blocking my proposals?"

"You know that’s not what I do..."

"What do you do, then?" Looking up into his eyes, she was suddenly feeling a little breathless. He seemed different all of a sudden. Oddly sincere. He seemed to look straight at her. It must be the alcohol and the dark and the guise of intimacy out here, but it seemed like he saw... a lot.

He brushed a lock of her hair back over her shoulder. "Silly Granger..." he murmured. "You know I do my best to help you whenever I can."

Her heart skipped a beat. Of course she knew, but to hear him say it like that... She’d never thought he’d admit to it. "Why?"

"I can’t stand pure-bloods."

That answer took her aback. "What?"

He smiled again, this time more softly. "Nothing you need to worry yourself about. And nothing I’ll ever admit to again. I’ve simply wanted to say it out loud for a while now... for my own reasons. Sometimes I feel like I’m going insane from the discrepancy between the truth and what people think they see."

"But you can’t tell me why?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You really talk too much, Granger."

"But—"

He moved closer and something got stuck in her brain as well as her throat, preventing her from articulating any thoughts, should she manage to have them. She tried to force out sound, but nothing but a pathetic little squeak emerged.

_Get it together._

She lowered her head and shook it with her eyes squeezed shut. There. That should dislodge the problem. She looked back up, but before she managed to take advantage of her now presumably functioning brain, he did the unthinkable and his lips were on hers, effectively shutting her up once more. Her eyes widened and she felt like her heart stopped for the longest time, but then she noticed the warmth and softness of his lips and her heart resumed beating at double pace. Unable to remember why she shouldn’t, she leaned into him to feel more of this intriguing new thing, but he withdrew almost before it had begun.

"See..." he murmured. "If you only stopped thinking and talking so much, you’d be able to kiss Potter in no time."

The words shocked her out of her fuzzy-brained state, but before she could think of a reply, he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

"I can’t do this!" Hermione announced as soon as she’d reached Malfoy’s office, which she’d set out for as soon as she was reasonably certain he’d be there. She was never reasonably certain until mid-morning and the wait had been killing her. Not because she wanted to see him—because after this weekend, she _really didn’t_ —but because she wanted it over with.

She'd never actually been there before.

He was sitting in a leather chair far too big and luxurious to be regular Ministry furniture. It supported having his legs comfortably up, and he had a small movable tray that functioned as his desk whilst his regular desk was shoved up against one wall and seemed to be used mostly for storage purposes. The general state of his office left something to be desired as well. From the looks of it, he would accidentally drop parchment, quills, ink, and even minor articles of clothing, on the floor and never pick them up. Come to think of it, his ‘storage’ area also held quite the collection of mugs.

No wonder his office was tucked away in a corner. If too many of the wrong people saw this, they’d seriously begin questioning what the Ministry was all about.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Good morning to you too."

She shook her head. "I’m calling it off."

He lowered the parchment he was reading, but didn’t get up. "Calling what off?"

"This whole scheme with Harry. I might be missing out but _I don’t care_. I keep trying to imbibe courage and you don’t even want to know what it’s doing to my head. Or my skin!"

"Ah." He studied her. "So it has nothing at all to do with this weekend, then?"

She couldn’t prevent the slight blush on her cheeks. She’d thought far more about that than she ought. "Of course it does! If you didn’t notice, I was _drunk_. Again!"

He slowly nodded. "I know. I’m sorry. I was out of line."

She blinked. What? "N-no, I meant—"

"I think we both know what you meant."

She felt extremely uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. She didn’t want to address that. She _never_ wanted to address that. If they addressed it, she would have to revisit her humiliating response and she couldn’t even begin to put words to how little she wanted to do that. "That aside," she hedged, "I simply don’t want to do this any longer."

"With me or with Potter?"

"Both!"

He sighed deeply, as if bone-weary. "You do know it was a lesson, right?"

"A... lesson?"

"A demonstration, if you will."

She crossed her arms, feeling strangely defenceless in the face of this conversation that she couldn’t seem to avoid. "Really," she drily said.

"It’s not as hard as you think to seduce someone, even someone with no prior interest in you. I wanted to show you. First you banter a little and charm them. Then you tell them something deeply personal, something that makes them view you in a new light—like when you realised I could be a person with feelings too, simply because I told you I’d been in love once."

"Once?"

"So I let you think it was something I was still struggling with." He shrugged. "I never said you couldn’t manipulate the truth. Finally, I revealed a thing about myself that could only make you think better of me—that I’m on your side when you’re doing this thankless job of yours. By then it didn’t even matter that I told you the reason for it; you were already so softened towards me that you were willing to believe that it was because I _cared_ —either about your causes or about you. In the mood of the moment, I’m fairly certain I could’ve done more than steal a small kiss."

"Right." She felt even stupider than she had before—which was probably his intention. How could she have been so easy to manipulate? Was she really that gullible? All the evidence pointed to yes. "But don’t forget that I was completely trollied." Ah, the sweet excuse of alcohol.

"That must be why you didn’t get it."

"Yeah... probably." She had a rather ominous feeling that she wouldn’t have got it even when sober, though. He’d seemed... different. She hated to admit it, but for a short while, she’d believed every word he’d said. She knew it was impossibly naïve of her, but why would she have questioned his motives? It wasn’t like she’d believed he truly wanted her as anything but a distraction, but she’d believed he was sharing deeply personal truths.

"I’ll keep the lessons cleaner in the future," he said, perusing his parchment again.

She didn’t have the energy to disabuse him of the notion that there’d be any more lessons, so she simply turned on her heel and went back to the safety of work.

* * *

"I thought you didn’t want to go out again," Harry said, watching Hermione with concern as she threw back another shot.

She made a grimace. "You thought wrong."

"Is this yet another of those things you won’t tell me about?"

"What do you mean? I tell you everything!" Except all those things she didn’t tell him about, of course.

"You aren’t telling me why we’re drinking on a Wednesday. You know you’ll have a hangover tomorrow."

"Yeah, well... was thinking of taking a sick day," Hermione muttered, picking up another shot.

"You? Skiving?" Harry stared at her. "Now I know something is off."

For a second, Hermione thought about explaining, but then discarded the idea. Harry wouldn’t understand any of it. He certainly wouldn’t understand the confusion she’d been battling all weekend that led to nothing but more confusion on Monday, and how she’d ever since then wanted nothing more than to never lay eyes on Draco Malfoy again.

She felt so embarrassed. And she wasn’t even certain why. The kiss had maybe lasted all of two seconds and she could easily blame her slow reaction time on the fact that she’d been inebriated. So what if she’d softened towards him for a short while? She wasn’t exactly known for being cold-hearted and he’d _seemed_ sincere. She wasn’t the fool for being lied to—he was the bastard for lying!

She drank the shot.

"All right," Harry said, moving the last shot in front of her out of her reach. "I’m cutting you off."

"Hey! You can’t do that!"

"You don’t want to be known as the lawmaker who’ll get smashed on a Wednesday night and do something stupid."

She snorted. "I’m already known as the lawmaker who sleeps with you. And Malfoy. And dresses hideously, and is too mean to buy new robes for important functions. And did you know they’re doing the pregnancy speculations as well? ‘ _Who’s the Father?_ ’ Ugh."

"Nobody believes what those magazines are writing."

"Keep telling yourself that, Harry. May I have my drink back?"

"Only if you promise it’s the last one."

"Fine."

He finally let her have it and she immediately downed it.

"Please tell me," he quietly said.

"He shouldn’t have kissed me," she grumbled, her tongue greatly loosened by the drinks. "I mean, I knew it was only because he was bored, but I didn’t know he didn’t _mean_ it." Way to go, that didn’t sound pathetic at all! Besides, it wasn’t like she actually wanted him to mean it—at least not in any way that mattered!

"Who? And mean it how?"

She shook her head. "It doesn’t matter who, but he could at least have been attracted to me if he was going to do that!" See, that was a good argument if she did say so herself. Be attracted or _don’t kiss_. Not a very unreasonable demand, really.

"Why would ‘he’ kiss you if he wasn’t attracted to you?"

"Can’t tell you."

"Why not? You know, this is very unhelpful. I still have no clue what’s going on." He did look fairly clueless. But then again, didn’t men always?

"Count yourself lucky then!" She glanced around. "Are you certain I can’t have one more?"

"No, you’re done. And I don’t buy that someone would kiss you without being attracted to you. He’s probably making up excuses."

She frowned, finding Harry’s reasoning odd. "Why would he do that when I didn’t ask for an explanation or in any way question what happened?"

"I don’t know. Ask him."

Right. Because she really wanted to have more conversations about what had happened. Ever.

"Meh. I’m not interested in him anyway."

"Then why so upset?"

"Because... it felt nice to feel attractive. And then he took it away. He could’ve at least let me keep that." She sounded pathetic. She _felt_ pathetic. She sighed. What was she even doing? She shouldn’t let such a well-known dick get to her so easily. "Ok, I’m over it. Thank you."

"You’re welcome," Harry said, looking like he still wasn’t certain what they were talking about. "By the way, it’s very soon the Anniversary... remember?"

She nodded grimly. That was one thing she wasn’t likely to forget. It being the tenth Anniversary of the end of the Second Wizarding War and everything, it was all over every kind of media in all of wizarding Britain. Not that she’d forget anyway. Ten years ago she’d lost so many close friends to a meaningless war.

"Did you decide if you’re going to the thing?" he asked.

She frowned. Ah, yes. The _thing_. It was soon and she had refused to make up her mind so far. She didn’t usually go. "It’s not really something to celebrate, is it?"

"I think it’s something to celebrate that we’re still here and we’re rebuilding society."

"And what about those that aren’t here?"

"I hear the Ministry is setting up a fund in their honour."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They call it an ‘equal opportunity’ fund. I was told someone got the idea from some Muggle relative. It’s supposed to give everyone in wizarding Britain the same opportunities for education and work, regardless of blood and race."

"Huh. Sounds nice." Sounded like something she should’ve done, really. Or something she should at least have paid enough attention to to know it existed. She’d have to see if they needed any help gathering donations.

"So... will you be there?"

"I suppose."

"It’s a date then."

She made a grimace that was not quite a smile. A date, indeed.

* * *

Hermione sat at her work desk, staring at her hand mirror. One thing was that her eyes were bloodshot—that was what she got for _not_ having a sick day—but she also had a spot. A _spot_! Although her skin had been showing signs of distress lately, she hadn’t had spots since... Well! She could barely remember the last time she’d had a spot. She’d always had a relatively healthy diet, a good hygiene and an active lifestyle, so spots had been something that happened to other people.

Until today.

She didn’t even know any spells to get rid of it, for crying out loud!

"You look like shite."

She closed the mirror with a snap and glared at Malfoy. "Thank you!"

"You really need to take better care of yourself." He came into her office uninvited and sat down in the chair across from her.

Look who was talking! He looked like death on legs half the time! "I know."

"Then why don’t you?"

"I told you! I need to get drunk to work up courage, and this is apparently what happens when I drink!"

"And how has it worked for you so far?"

She didn’t answer, because he bloody well knew how it had worked for her so far.

"Are you going to the Anniversary Ball?"

She reluctantly nodded.

"Then be pretty and sober and bond with him over what day it is."

She scowled at him. "First of all, I refuse to use _that_ day to try and manipulate Harry. Second of all, sober doesn’t seem to help. Third of all, I can’t suddenly get prettier without a Polyjuice potion."

"What are you wearing?"

She blinked and frowned. "What?"

"For the Anniversary Ball. What are you wearing?"

"I don’t know yet."

"If you plan to have something spectacular made, you need to do it right now. Today."

"Then it’s a good thing that I don’t plan to do that."

"Why not?"

"I need to eat, Malfoy. And I’d rather donate to the new fund than spend far too much on a useless set of robes I can only wear once."

He shook his head, looking more patronising than ever. "Sometimes I doubt your dedication."

"If Harry is the kind who’ll fall for a set of robes rather than the witch in them, I’ll pass."

"You were the one who said you needed to work to attract him physically. I’m only trying to help you with that."

"Forget it. It’s not worth it."

He pursed his lips at her but then merely shrugged. "All right, then."

What? She narrowed her eyes. Something was always fishy when Malfoy gave in this easily. "All right, what?"

"All right. You don’t want to get fancy robes and I can’t make you."

"What are you plotting?"

"You should take care of that spot." He tapped his own chin where her spot was located. "It doesn’t exactly look professional. Or sexy, for that matter."

He was gone before she was done searching her desk for something to throw at his head that wouldn't bring her seven years of unhappiness when it broke.

* * *

On the day of the dreaded event, as soon as Hermione stepped out of the shower, someone was at the door. How typical. She wrapped herself in the best investment she’d ever made—a huge, thick, soft towel—and glanced at the clock as she went through the sitting room to reach the door. She still had plenty of time to get ready for the Ball, but who on earth would visit her _now_?

She would never have guessed.

She opened the door and her mouth dropped open. "Malfoy? What... Why..." She frowned. "Ministry emergency?"

He didn’t reply but took her in at a glance. "Perfect timing I see. Are you going to let me in?"

"No!" She crossed her arms. "I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m—" _Naked._ She snapped her mouth shut. She shouldn’t say that. Besides, the towel was perfectly decent. Except he knew she was naked underneath it. "I’m getting ready to go to the Anniversary Ball, if you don’t mind."

He nodded. "And I’m here to help you with that."

She shot him a very suspicious glance. "We didn’t agree on any such thing!"

"Of course not. You’d never have agreed to it. Why do you think I came here on foot?"

"And why do you think I’ll let you in now?"

He pointed at a box she hadn’t noticed, leaning against the wall. "Curiosity."

* * *

Hermione stared at the open box on her bed and then she glowered in Malfoy’s general direction. "What is this? "

"I thought that much would be obvious."

"No, what _is_ this?"

"Formal robes."

"Malfoy!"

"It’s not my fault that you refused to get a decent set."

"So you simply went out and got me robes with no regards for measurements or anything? And I _did_ get robes myself!"

"Save your robes for next time. And of course I didn’t ignore your measurements, Chubs. It just so happened that they hadn’t resold your last formal robes yet. We figured you’d be about the same size now."

" _We_?"

"Obviously I didn’t make them myself, Granger."

She eyed him warily. He was wearing everyday robes. "Why aren’t you changed? Aren’t you going?"

He smiled wryly. "I tried to go to one of these things last year. I was cussed out. I believe the consensus was that I was making a 'mockery' of the whole thing. I think it’s better for everyone involved if I stay far away this year."

"Oh." She looked down. "I’m sorry."

"You really do have to stop apologising for things that have nothing to do with you." He checked his watch. "Are you going to be contrary all night, or are you going to put those on?"

"I am not wearing them!"

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. But in that case, the money really is wasted, isn’t it? I don’t know anyone else who could wear them."

"You’re horrible."

He chuckled at that. "I know plenty of witches that only wish someone would be this horrible to them."

She scrunched up her nose, seeing his point there, but it simply felt so... invasive. "You have to admit that it’s out of line."

"A bit," he admitted. "But if this doesn’t work, I promise to back off."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Completely?"

"Completely."

"Hmm."

"And," he added, "if you humour me, I’ll let you sell them back afterwards and donate the money to that fund you were talking about the other day."

"And if I don’t?"

He shrugged. "Then I’ll burn them."

She gaped at him. "So, let me get this straight, you’re blackmailing me by deliberately throwing money away if I don’t do as you wish?"

"You really are clever, aren’t you?"

She shot him an odd look. He merely looked back at her like he showed up on people’s door steps to blackmail them into wearing clothes he’d bought every day. "This is the strangest thing you’ve done yet, Malfoy."

"Oh, I actually doubt that. I do plenty of strange things. Aren’t you getting cold?"

Heat suffused Hermione’s cheeks. She was still only wearing her towel and, _yes_ , damn it, she was getting cold. She hadn't had time to completely dry off and she liked her bedroom cool. "Don’t you worry about that!" she snapped.

He grinned. "Look, just wear them. Nobody else will know. And I’ll even turn my back whilst you get changed."

She narrowed her eyes. He’d like that, wouldn’t he? Turning his back to face her mirror! She pointed towards the door. "Sitting room!" She hadn’t been completely thrilled at having him in her bedroom to begin with, but he’d suggested she took the box there right away for the ease of it and declining would only have made him think she was afraid he’d want something to happen. Which was ludicrous.

He obeyed, but not without giving her a regretful look that she didn’t doubt was another _lesson_ , and she was left staring at the robes he’d brought with him.

They were red. Bright red. Except for the ivory white with intricate gold embroidery in front and the gold band that went just below her bosom.

Damn her. Damn _him_. She lusted for those robes. They were absolutely gorgeous and beyond anything she’d ever worn before and he _knew_ that, the miserable excuse for a bugger!

He knocked at the door, making her jump. "Less scowling and more dressing," he called out.

Her eyes widened. She really wished he’d stop doing that.

* * *

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was put up, her face was made up, her neck was perfumed, and the robes fit like they were made for her.

Which, she supposed, they were.

"I don’t know what to make of that horrified look," Malfoy drawled from behind her. He’d been constantly poking and prodding her all night.

"This isn’t me."

"Of course it’s you." He frowned at her. "You don’t like it?"

"No, it’s..." She looked away from the mirror. "It’s silly. I think I’m ready now, don’t you?" She got up and began hunting around the bedroom for something to wear over these robes without wrinkling them in the short distance she’d have to walk outside.

"What is it?" he insisted.

"Let it go, Malfoy."

"Not on your life, Granger."

She stopped searching and stared at him, uncertain how to take the sharpness of his voice. "Why not?"

"Because I didn’t come here with those robes so you could get _that_ look on your face!"

No, he’d come here so he could get Harry off the market and get more witches for himself. How weak was that reason? She’d bet he was also motivated by a deep desire to mess with her head. This whole Cinderella thing was only designed to show her how she’d never look again. "The robes promise something I can’t keep, all right? It... it’s really not me."

"You’re right. This _is_ silly."

She felt oddly bruised, considering she should have known what he’d say. "I told you it was, so why did you ask?" she muttered.

"Potter already knows every single side of you _but_ this one. If this doesn’t sway him, nothing will. He already knows what he’s getting. He’s simply too blind to know that he wants it. This is only to make him see it."

"Hmm." She looked away. Oddly, her immediate concerns hadn’t been about Harry. It had been about the way Malfoy was currently letting his gaze slide over her, clearly admiring his handiwork. He seemed to genuinely enjoy looking at and... _want_ this creation of his, where he’d yet to want _her_. It made her feel like some kind of doll. Nothing but an artificial pretty exterior put on top of something else that would never measure up and be the real thing in his eyes.

"And you forgot something," he added.

"What?"

He reached down into the box for the robes and brought out a smaller, flat black box. Hermione had a near heart attack.

"Put that away!" she sharply insisted.

"Relax," he said. "You don’t get to keep this one."

That did make her relax, but only a little. "I look fine without it." She didn’t even want to know what _it_ was.

"You didn’t even take a look at it! And just so you know, I didn’t pay anything for it."

She side-eyed him. "It’s old?"

"No. Quite new, actually."

"Then what?"

"The jeweller simply asks that if anyone asks you about it, you mention where it’s from."

"So... I’m a walking advertisement?" She felt oddly relieved at that.

"Basically, yes. I figured you’d prefer that over me buying something."

She hazarded a glance towards the box he’d now opened. It was a necklace. A really shiny necklace. It was a gold chain attached to a ‘V’ of separate diamond-covered gold plates, broken up by bezel-set rubies and more diamonds.

It looked ridiculously expensive.

"And they let you walk out of the shop with that without paying, huh?"

He didn’t even blink. "Of course. It’s quite the common thing, you know. And don’t worry. They promised me their discretion, so nobody will link me to it. It was your name they were interested in, anyway. Simply return it when you’re done with it."

"How come you know all these things?"

He scoffed. "I’m a pure-blood. If anything, we know how to get the most out of everything without ever giving anything back."

"If it wasn’t so odd to hear _you_ say that, I’d agree with you."

He grinned and carelessly took the necklace from its box, tossing the empty container aside. "Come here and let me put this on you."

She reluctantly did as asked, reflexively raising her hands to lift her hair, only to realise that her neck and shoulders were completely bare. Not knowing what else to do with her hands, she let them fall to her sides.

She felt the cool touch of the necklace and the feather light touches of his fingers casually brushing her neck in the process. It gave her gooseflesh that she violently hoped he didn’t notice.

"There," he murmured close to her ear. "Look."

She looked up to see herself in the mirror. She didn’t recognise the woman staring back at her. She didn’t want to look at her, so she looked away again.

"Why?" he breathed, frustration colouring his words. "Why are you so opposed to being beautiful?"

"It’s not me."

"It is you."

"No, it’s a fancy dress and jewellery I could never afford."

"No... they’re only accessories that enhance the real you."

She looked up and caught Malfoy’s eyes in the mirror. He looked like he meant it. She wanted him to mean it. She wanted him to tell her more pretty things and pretend he wanted _her_. It had been a long time since she’d been wanted by anyone and she was sadly starved enough for it that anyone would do.

Even the person who was known to constantly disparage her.

"Don’t do that," he whispered.

"Do what?" She didn’t break eye contact.

"Look at me... like you don’t know..."

"Don’t know what?" Her heart was pounding. Any second now, he would smirk and deliver a crushing pun, yet she couldn’t look away and couldn’t stop herself from asking.

His eyes dropped to her neck. "How good you smell."

"You can buy that smell by the bottle."

He slowly shook his head. "No... you can’t." Then he bowed his head and pressed his lips against the exact spot he’d been eyeing.


	5. Chapter 5

A jolt went through Hermione and she desperately fought not to believe Malfoy, not this time, even as her eyes slid closed.

Even if this was merely another lesson, she’d take it. She was too starved for this kind of attention to turn it away.

"What are you doing to me?" he breathed, slowly running his lips up her neck.

_Yes, please act like you can’t resist._

"Open your eyes."

She reluctantly did. She didn’t relish giving up this brief fantasy.

"I really want to kiss you," he muttered. "If you don’t want me to... Please stop that."

Stop what? She wasn’t doing anything. Except leaning against him and gazing at his reflection in the mirror in a dream-like state. She slowly turned her head towards him and with a pained groan, he delivered on his promise and pressed his lips against hers.

It was a kiss so very different from last time. He’d moved one hand to cup her cheek and the other one gripped her waist almost painfully, as he held her as if he not only wanted to but _needed_ to.

She understood. He was kissing the beautiful witch in red this time. She could be her for one night. She could be beautiful and sophisticated and know how to talk and flirt and turn men’s heads.

She twisted her body to face him without breaking contact and he rewarded her by drawing her closer and slipping his hand from her cheek into her hair, completely ruining her hairstyle in the process.

She didn’t care. She merely put her hands on his chest to feel his heart. It beat fast and hard, lending some truth to how he was affected. The beautiful witch in red could do what Hermione herself couldn’t. What she’d never be able to do.

She felt him push at the short sleeves of her robes and broke the kiss with a gasp when she felt the robes sliding down, only even covering her from her waist down because the sleeves caught on the crooks of her arms.

"Now’s the time to stop me," he murmured.

"How did you do that?" she whispered.

He didn’t reply but merely kissed her again, more desperately this time.

He really wanted the witch in red.

It was only a harmless fantasy, right? They could both get what they wanted from it, couldn’t they? Without thinking, Hermione let her arms fall down, allowing the robes to fall to the floor.

Only... now she wasn’t the witch in red any longer. Now she was Hermione wearing her nicest pretty-but-not-very-sexy going-out underwear, a messed up hairdo and smeared make-up.

He didn’t seem to notice. She was happy about that, because it helped her fantasy. Of course, it was more than possible that he simply chose to pretend, but it didn’t matter.

She didn’t object when he seemed to nudge her towards her bed, steering her with the pressure of his body. It had been far too long since anything worthwhile had happened in that bed, and whilst he clearly seemed to be hesitating, she really wanted that to change. Tonight.

But maybe it was unfair to attempt to manipulate him with fantasies.

She broke the kiss. "If you don’t mean to continue, please leave now. " Before it was too humiliating to be left behind.

Who was she kidding? She was already almost naked, not to mention more than a little desperate for validation. It would be absolutely mortifying if he left now.

His eyes darkened. "If I don’t...? Merlin, Granger, are you blind? No, never mind that, even a blind person would’ve noticed by now."

She blushed but before she could reply, he kissed her again and she felt her hands coming up to undo his robes. He readily shed them with her help.

No going back now. Good.

When he nudged again, she fell back on the bed and he toppled down on top of her, flinching as he did so. She found that odd for the briefest of seconds, considering that he ought to have a soft landing on her. She was going to ask if he was all right, but he was clearly having none of her speaking. As his hands began exploring the very curves she was usually so self-conscious about, she immediately forgot all about words.

She didn’t want him to ever stop touching her.

"I need you," he whispered against her ear, running his hand behind her back to open her strapless bra. "My lovely Hermione."

_Yes! Tell me pretty things!_ She slid her hands over his back, noticing that he was trembling a little, looking strained. Once more, it gave her pause until he noticed her looking at him and responded by kissing her again. It was a sweet kiss, followed by her bra mysteriously disappearing.

She bit her lip. They were really going to do this, weren’t they? Well, in that case... She let her hands slip down to his hips and pushed his underwear down. He didn’t resist, didn’t stop her, only watched her with a hunger she’d never seen in him before. "Yours too," he then whispered, and she obliged.

He briefly closed his eyes, but then he was kissing her lips, her throat, her neck, her shoulders, her breasts... She was so overwhelmed that she didn’t know what to do except hold onto his shoulders for dear life and enjoy it. He shifted his weight to his hip beside her and let his now free hand explore. Lower, lower... deeper. Her eyes widened and she all but bucked against him, moaning loudly. She’d forgotten. She’d honestly forgotten how it could feel to be touched like that by someone.

He groaned deep in his throat. "Hermione, love, I won’t be able to take my time tonight..."

She didn’t mind. She wanted him inside her. Now! She signalled as much by turning towards him and wrapping her leg around his hip.

He shuddered. "You have no idea," he murmured. "No idea how much I want this... want you..."

Of course he wanted her. As long as he didn’t look too hard below her collarbone, she was still the heavily made up seductive witch in red! She grabbed his neck and pulled him closer to kiss him, and he surrendered, coming down on top of her, soon entering her.

She gasped, her eyes rolling back. He’d been right when he’d said she needed to have sex. She’d had _no idea_ how much she missed this! Somehow, she’d managed to forget how wonderful being filled felt.

Then he began moving, slowly, whispering more sweet compliments. She clung onto him with all her might, savouring the purity of feeling without thought.

He was trembling, sweat beading on his forehead and back, and telling her that she was the most beautiful witch he’d ever seen. She kissed him again, and he eagerly returned the kiss, moving faster, making everything come together in what she could best describe as a blur of clarity.

She found herself asking him to please not stop, please keep going, please go faster, please touch her, please kiss her, please... He obliged her on everything she asked, but he’d stopped talking to her. Instead his jaw was set and he seemed deeply concentrated on what he was doing.

She didn’t blame him. Talking could take a lot of effort when it wasn’t a natural ramble like hers, and it felt so _good_ , she never wanted it to stop. She kept the wonderful feeling going as long as she could, her fingers and toes buzzing with all this newfound sexual energy, but then she felt it all slowly blooming out of her control, consuming her.

When she lost the final sliver of control and came with a broken moan, he followed closely behind, gratifyingly unable to hold back any longer. Or maybe simply unwilling to hold back. But It had been so long since she’d made someone lose control that she decided to decree it to be what happened.

Maybe he really did think she was as beautiful as he’d said she was tonight.

He groaned as if in pain and then gently kissed her before rolling off her and onto his back, leaving her to feel oddly bereft. She wondered if it would be inappropriate to get under the covers now.

"That was... unplanned..." he said, sounding slightly out of breath.

She couldn’t quite squash her giggle. "I’ll say."

He shot her a glance. "You’re going to be late."

That surprised her. "I’m still going?"

"Well... yes!" He struggled to get up on his elbows, looking down on her. "When will you get such a chance again? You have the means and opportunity to look your absolute best and you even got rid of all of that tension now..."

It took a moment for her brain to even register the words, and when they did, she immediately gave herself a mental beating. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Couldn’t he at least have allowed her brains to clear up before he reminded her that he hadn’t actually meant a word of anything he’d said?

"Need another shower," she muttered, getting up and walking out into her bathroom without sparing him a second look.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, her hair tousled and lipstick smeared, she realised she was still wearing the necklace. 

She really had never stopped being the witch in red, not even for a second.

* * *

A half hour later, Hermione was showered, dressed and all made up again, almost as good as new, thanks to the power of magic. Malfoy had left before she’d returned from the bathroom, but she’d found her dress on the bed, any wrinkles straightened. There was no note, no bye, no nothing. It was as if nothing had happened at all.

She didn’t care. She really didn’t. He’d wanted the witch in red and he’d had her. Well, she’d wanted to be wanted and she’d had _that_ , so there. She wanted nothing else. Nothing at all. Who needed a wizard who’d care to stay in bed for more than five minutes after having sex anyway? She certainly didn’t. Especially not _him_.

Rather than dwell on how much of a liar she was, she hurried off to the Anniversary Ball. 

Nobody really noticed her entrance as she slipped in to pretend she'd been there all along. She felt odd being there so shortly after having had sex with Malfoy out of the blue, but it couldn’t be helped. She’d be damned if she’d stay at home and let him notice her absence from the ball when he read the gossip the next day. And he could deny it all he wanted, but she _knew_ he read the gossip. He’d made enough puns off it to last her a lifetime.

"There you are, Hermione," Harry said, appearing at her side. "I’ve been looking for you for the past hour! Did I misunderstand when you said to meet you here?"

She shook her head. "Sorry."

"You look marvellous! How did you get that necklace? Rob a jeweller’s?"

"Something like that," she absent-mindedly replied. "Can I talk to you for a bit?"

"Certainly!" He looked at her expectantly.

"No. I mean in private."

"Oh." He looked around, seeming a little uncomfortable with that. "I think I know a private room, but mind if we keep an open door?"

"No, not at all."

"All right, then!" He led the way and then, as he’d said, left the door open. "What did you want to talk about?"

"First, I’d like to know why you’re suddenly afraid to be in private with me."

"Ah." He shifted a little awkwardly on the spot. "I talked to Ginny the other day, and she said she was coming later tonight... I simply don’t want her to get the wrong idea from the society press. You know what I mean."

Hermione couldn’t help the sudden urge to smile. "You’re working things out with Ginny?"

He shrugged, sheepishly grinning as he scratched his head. "Maybe? I mean, I hope so. To be honest, I couldn’t quite figure it out, but... I really do hope so."

"So do I!" Hermione said and realised without that much surprise that she meant it.

Harry was her friend. Not only her friend, but her best friend in the entire world. She loved him dearly, but she wasn’t _in_ love with him. How silly of her not to see that sooner. Just because two people might theoretically be a good romantic match didn’t mean they were. Sometimes something was simply missing.

He eyed her warily. "Why are you staring at me like that and grinning like a fool?"

"Let me tell you a funny story," Hermione said, still grinning. 

And then she told her all about her recent mad endeavour to romance him, leaving out Malfoy’s part as best she could—leaving Malfoy's _name_ out at all times—and certainly never mentioning what had happened right before she got here.

Some things Harry simply didn't need to know.

* * *

Hermione was out on the balcony, enjoying a breath of fresh air when someone snuck up on her and said, "So you and Harry, huh?"

She shot him a sideways glance. "Hey, Ron. I wondered where you were hiding."

"For the past ten minutes I was enthralled by Harry’s storytelling abilities." He grinned and leaned against the railing, standing very close to her. "You honestly thought the two of you’d be a good match?"

"I think we’d have been a better match than you and I ever were," she said with a casual shrug.

He cocked his head. "Do you really mean that?"

"Of course! Why else would I even consider it?"

"Even now, after you gave up the idea of you and Harry, you think you’d be a better match?" he asked, leaning a little closer.

"Yes." They could hardly have been a worse match, after all. In spite of all of their best intentions, Ron and she simply hadn’t managed to make the transition from friends to couple very well.

"And you’re completely certain?"

She wasn’t given the chance to reply before his lips were on hers. She froze for a moment, unsure what to do, and then she stepped back. "What do you think you’re doing?"

"I told you I missed you."

"Yeah, but... not like _that_! You do have a girlfriend, you know!"

"No, I don’t. She kicked me out, remember?"

"Yes, I do remember. _She_ kicked _you_ out. You’re rebounding, and if you respect me at all, you won’t try to make me a part of it."

"Is that what you think is happening here? I _missed_ you, Hermione, and I’d forgotten how beautiful you were..."

The appreciation in his eyes was unmistakable. Right now Hermione honestly wished she’d let Malfoy burn these stupid robes.

"Have you been drinking?" she bluntly asked.

"Not a lot, no."

"Wrong answer," she said, not for a second believing that he could be sober and do this to her, to either of them. "I believe you’re completely pissed, and tomorrow you will have sobered up and we will forget all about this."

"Is that your final answer, then?"

She nodded, looking away. No way was she ever going down that road with Ron again. It was far too hurtful and would be certain to completely shatter their friendship this time. "It is."

He sighed. "Then maybe I really ought to get pissed."

* * *

First thing Monday morning, Hermione had Draco Malfoy in her office holding yesterday’s newspaper. She marvelled at the fact that he’d been able to find the Ministry this early in the morning.

"I’m confused," he stated without further ado, walking right in and taking a seat. She noticed that he was trying to conceal a slight limp today.

He certainly wasn’t the only one confused. "What now?"

"This!" He opened the newspaper to one of the pages about the Anniversary Ball—she believed there were eight full pages about it in this issue—to show a picture of Ron kissing her."

"Oh." She hadn’t seen that yet.

"‘Oh’? I show you this and all you can say is ‘oh’?"

"Well... what do you want me to say?"

"I’d like to know why you’re wasting time on your useless ex when you have every opportunity to pursue Potter."

Out went any hope that he might be upset that she’d kissed anyone at all. Why she’d even thought that might be the reason, she didn’t know. Of course everything was about his little agenda. It always had been, hadn’t it?

"Probably the same reason why I wasted time on you," she calmly said. "It was a _very_ pretty set of robes."

His eyes glinted dangerously and he leaned forward. "But as I recall, I was the one who gave them to you, not Weasley. So what were you doing, rewarding him?"

Hermione felt like she’d been slapped right across the face. Not an uncommon occurrence around Malfoy, really, so why she’d hoped for different motives, she honestly couldn’t say. "I think this conversation is over."

"That would probably be best, yeah." He carefully got to his feet, favouring his left side.

"What happened to your leg?" Hermione asked, watching him. She still wanted to smack him and it would probably be wiser to simply let him go, but her curiosity got the better of her. It often did. Maybe that was the reason why she often put herself in a position where Draco could get to her.

"Nothing that’s any of your business, Granger."

"It was during the sex, wasn’t it?"

"It really wasn’t that wild..."

"Don't even try that, Malfoy. Something is wrong with you, anyone with eyes can see that. You’re gaunt and hollow-eyed. You rarely eat much. You begin sweating and snapping at people if you have to stand or exert yourself for too long. You have a lounger for a work chair. You take frequent holidays. And now, you seem to have hurt yourself _during sex_ , which was probably why you wanted me to leave the room as fast as possible after. How am I doing so far?"

He sat back down, looking slightly stunned, the fact that he was angry forgotten. "Too well."

"I didn’t see any injury on you."

"No... of course you didn’t." He looked off to the side and when he noticed that the door to her office was still open, he swore and went to close it before going back to his chair. "Don’t tell anyone, Granger. Please."

"Do the ‘Old Families’ you’re representing know?"

"In a sense. They know I have medical issues."

"Then I have no reason to tell anyone, do I?"

"I suppose," he muttered.

"It’s not like you to hide an injury, Malfoy."

He shot her a sharp look. "I never had one this severe before. Trust me, after a few years of nothing but being pitied and bound to your bed, the novelty wears off."

"A few... years?" That had certainly been unexpected. Possibly even more unexpected than the sex, and that was saying something.

"You don’t want to know, Granger."

"I do." She really, really did. "Please tell me."

They held a staring match for the longest time, but then he sighed with what seemed to be part irritation and part resignation as he gave in. "I suppose you could force the issue now anyway. Long story short, during my brief stint in Azkaban when they were evaluating my case, one of the noble pure-bloods present got hold of a wand and cursed me. I assume for my family’s part in his downfall."

"He didn’t curse to kill?"

"Oh, yes, he did. But... some Auror... who happened to be there managed to jump in and deflect most of it, leaving me ‘only’ unconscious and eventually in incredible pain from this unknown curse. During the first few years, if I’d had the strength for it, I would probably have hunted the Auror down and killed him for not letting me die that day."

"The, uh, ‘noble pure-blood’ refused to say what the curse was?"

"He couldn’t very well tell anyone, Granger. Once he started attempting to hurl spells at everyone, the Auror killed him in self-defence."

"Oh."

"Yes. Well. The Healers thought I’d eventually die or become catatonic. I did neither. It may not seem that way, but I’m... vastly better now than I used to be. Some days I don’t even need potions for the pain to be bearable."

"So... you aren’t dying?" She winced. Subtlety wasn’t her strong suit around him it seemed, but she really had to know. She didn’t want to come into work one day and find him... gone. He might be the biggest arse this side of creation, but she had an awful suspicion she’d miss him if he weren’t there.

"We’re all dying."

"You know what I mean."

He looked away. "I don’t know. I don’t plan to die. I’d really like it if they’d come up with a miracle cure, but until they do, this is my life for however long I have it."

"How come it wasn’t all over the media?" She couldn’t seem to stop asking all these questions. Sooner or later he’d rebuff her and she’d deserve it, but she had to find out as much as possible first.

Again, he stared at her the longest time before answering. "My family preferred to keep it quiet. My bed rest wasn’t a very dignified time. I’d cry, vomit, rage and worse. They figured that either I’d improve or I’d die. Both of those options would be far less humiliating to me than letting the world know what was going on. I happen to be rather grateful that they didn’t tell anyone."

"Oh. And your leg can’t be healed?"

His lips twitched with dark humour. "It’s already been healed so many times after cramps and seizures damaged the tissue that it won’t take any more. I have the leg of someone sixty years older. But that’s not so bad. It doesn’t give me much trouble unless strained. What’s worse is the state of some of my internal organs. That damage is far harder to live with." He leaned back in his chair, equipping his nastiest smirk. "Sorry you had sex with a cripple yet, Chubs?"

"Trust me. I have far better reasons to be sorry for it than that!" she snapped, still trying to digest all of this.

His smirk disappeared. "I can’t say that I'm sorry. I can barely remember the last time... " His voice trailed off and for a moment he didn’t seem like he’d finish the thought, but then he merely shrugged. "It’s hard to find bed partners under these circumstances."

"Only because you insist on trying to hide what’s wrong." She shook her head. He would honestly rather let everyone believe that he was some kind of layabout than let them know that he had legitimate medical issues?

"I don’t need a pity shag, Granger. And I _know_ that’s not what I got either. You were as starved as I was."

All signs pointed towards more starved, actually.

"But you didn’t have to strain yourself like that!" she objected.

"I wasn’t going to chance you changing your mind. Besides, I'd been on my feet all afternoon so I was already strained."

"And you honestly thought I would change my mind if you asked me to be on top?"

He nodded. "Face it, Chubs. You didn’t want to be on top. You wanted me to take charge. I gave you what you wanted so I could get what I wanted."

What she wanted. She’d wanted to hear pretty lies about her appeal and he’d known it. To hear him admitting to it like this hurt more than it should. Did he honestly have to tell her that he’d only slept with her because it was currently hard for him to find other, more desirable sex partners? What happened to simply leaving the fantasy alone?

"I see," she forced out. "I suppose everyone got what they wanted, then."

"Yeah. Except for one thing." He pointed at the picture of her kissing Ron. "It was _Potter_ I wanted off the market."

She pursed her lips. Back to that stupid fixation. "Oh, don’t worry about that. He is." Well, maybe he was.

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah. We had a talk and—" _Manipulate the truth to get what you want—it’s not like he doesn’t do it all the time._ "And it’s all sorted between us. We’re both clear on what we want."

He leaned back, looking stunned. "I’ll be damned... It worked? In spite of what I see here?"

He didn’t have to seem so surprised.

"Yes, it worked like a charm. I’ll be looking into selling the dress when I’ve had it cleaned and I’m returning the necklace today." She patted her desk drawer where she kept it.

"I can do that," he said, holding out his hand. "I’m going down to Diagon Alley anyway."

She hesitantly opened up the drawer and took out the box. She supposed it was only right to let him return it since he’d picked it up, but somehow she didn’t feel quite ready to part with it yet. Steeling herself, she ignored any feelings of ready or not ready and thrust it at him.

She could do with less feelings these days anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione was quite good with numbers, she really was. Still, she couldn’t seem to make these match up in any way she wanted to. She sighed, banging her head against the back of her hands that were placed flat on her desk.

Stupid feelings.

In spite of how she’d resented the beautiful red robes some of the night when she’d worn them, she’d discovered that she really wanted to keep them. But she couldn’t keep them in good conscience without at least donating what she would otherwise get for it to the new fund. She’d had an estimate of what she could get for it at the shop, and that number was _ridiculously_ high and far beyond her budget. She didn't even want to know what it had cost as new.

Especially if she were buying a house with Harry. She wasn’t so certain about that any longer, though. If Harry and Ginny did manage to work out their relationship, they’d probably move in together and she’d be stuck at her flat. Bugger.

But, hey, if she stayed there, she’d only have to pay the robes off for a _minor_ eternity. Unless there were other unforeseen expenses...

She _really_ needed a rise.

But most of all, she needed to march down there and sell those damn robes. It wasn’t like she could ever wear them anywhere again. She wasn’t some child playing princess!

"Financial problems, Chubs?"

She couldn’t keep her mouth from turning down in a petulant frown. Malfoy was the last person she wanted to see today. Why did he always drop by for no reason at all? "No. Go away."

He snatched her parchment. "Funny. That amount right here looks a lot like what I imagine you must earn."

"Isn’t that strange?" she merely asked, resting her cheek against one of her knuckles and not bothering to try to cover up what she’d been doing. She was so far beyond caring it wasn’t even funny. Besides, she felt fairly confident that he wouldn’t figure it out and that helped.

He narrowed his eyes, studying the figures she'd scribbled down, and then looked back at her. "What is it you want this badly?"

"None of your business!" she snapped, taking some pleasure in being vicious to the wizard who’d introduced her to this beautiful thing she couldn’t have.

"No need to take my head off for being curious." He put the parchment back down.

"But you know you’re more than curious. This is the lead-up to you rubbing your privilege in my face. I know this kind of money is nothing to you, but we aren’t all that blessed, and it’s aggravating to have to hear you go on about it all the time!"

He watched her, accepting all of her criticism without blinking. "Are you done yet?"

She spread her fingers in surrender. "Yes, I suppose."

"Good. I didn’t mean to rub anything in your face today, so I’m sorry I came across that way. I was considering offering you the means to get whatever it is you want so much, but maybe that also counts as rubbing it in, in your book?"

She shot him a horrified look. "You can’t do that."

"Can’t do what?"

"Give me money!"

"I certainly can. It’s mine to give."

"No!" She shook her head, grabbing onto it with both hands as she felt a splitting headache coming on. "I can’t _accept_ it from you."

"That’s something entirely different. And equally wrong. You can but you won’t because you’re letting your pride get in the way of your own advantage. You’d make such a rubbish pure-blood."

"Yes, silly me, why would I be opposed to being your whore?"

He looked genuinely flabbergasted at that. "Excuse me?"

"You never do anything without getting anything in return and I do remember your comments on what _obligation_ a deal like that would bring." Obligation... oh, how rich! He’d already shown how far his interest in that went. But then again, maybe he’d feel free to continue to use and disparage her if he’d _paid_ for her. Yes, a pair of robes were certainly worth that blow to her dignity. Not.

"If I said something like that, I certainly wasn’t serious!" he said, still looking rather shocked. "Merlin, Chubs, if I wanted to buy sex, I could get it from far more... professional witches, I’m sure. Besides, I can’t strain myself like that too often. I had to go into a drug-induced coma for the rest of the weekend!"

Great! So now it hadn’t even been good for him? And had he lied about the strain before, or was he lying about it now? It seemed like he was constantly changing his story to whatever suited him. The lying certainly didn’t hurt her at all! Although she was rather surprised that anything he said could even hurt her any longer. "So you’re saying you don’t even _want_ sex with me?" she asked, far beyond subtlety at this point.

He stared at her. "There is no way I can win today, is there?"

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. Was she being unreasonable? Maybe a tad. She took a deep breath and muttered her most pressing concern into her hands.

"What?" he asked. "You might want to uncover your mouth if you want me to hear what you’re saying."

She removed her hands and glared at him. "I _said_ that we forgot to use protection! I can’t even believe that it took me so long to realise." She’d been so busy living a stupid fantasy that she’d completely disregarded her own health and potential consequences.

"Oh, that." He visibly relaxed. "You needn’t worry."

His lax attitude brought her hackles back up. "Why? Because you have _money_?"

"No," he calmly said. "Because I’m sterile. And, like my leg and many other side effects, that’s something that won’t change, even if they do find a way to get rid of the lingering curse."

* * *

Harry sat watching Hermione as she once again tried to kill her problems with ethanol at their friendly neighbourhood pub. "Can I be frank?" he asked.

She grimaced after her latest gulp and asked, "Can I stop you?"

"You’re developing some very unhealthy habits."

She snorted. "Get off it, Harry. It’s Saturday! Aren’t I supposed to have fun?"

"You’re not having fun."

That killed her pretence and she scowled at him. "Can’t you at least let me pretend?"

"No."

"Bah." She pouted.

"So... who is he, Hermione?" Harry quietly asked. "I mean, you’re obviously not going to tell me on your own."

"Who’s who?" She faked ignorance even though she knew it was a silly thing to do. Harry only wanted to help her. But how could he possibly help her with this? She only needed him to _be_ there and then she’d deal with this on her own.

"The mysterious kisser who tried to push you into my loving arms," he calmly replied. "It has to be the same bloke. Don’t deny it. You’re not that much of a liar."

"Ah. Him." So Harry had connected at least two of the dots. That was a bad sign. A very bad sign. She wasn’t quite ready for anyone to know the truth and once Harry began connecting dots, the whole thing always seemed to reveal itself.

"Yes, him," Harry confirmed.

"You know, Ron kissed me too." It was a weak deflection, and they both knew it.

Harry nodded his head once. "I heard. I told him he was a twit."

"Really?"

"Really. He should know better than to put the both of you through that again. But we weren’t talking about him."

"We weren’t?"

"No."

"Could we be?" she hopefully asked.

"No."

"Why not?" She was whinging and she cringed inwardly that she was, but she couldn’t go there. She simply couldn’t.

"Because he isn’t the one bothering you."

She looked down. "Nobody is bothering me any longer." In a sense that was true. Malfoy thought he’d achieved his goal, so he wasn’t going to push for her to be with Harry any longer. Hooray, she was free of his insincere praise. At least until he realised she'd been lying to him. If he realised. And then only maybe. Who knew if he’d bother with her again even if he got the chance?

"Why is it that I don’t believe you?"

"I don’t know. Maybe you’re naturally suspicious? You should work on that."

"Or maybe it’s because my otherwise sensible friend is desperate to pretend she’s having fun?"

She winced. "Never heard the proverb ‘fake it until you make it’?"

"It’s a rubbish proverb. Come on, Hermione. Tell me what's going on."

She really couldn’t go there, so she stared very intently at her drink. "There isn’t much to tell."

"Then tell me what there is to tell."

"It was only a kiss." She was a big, fat liar. "There you have it, all right? Someone kissed me. And they didn’t mean it."

"There’s more than that."

She shook her head. Would he never let this go? "I simply fell for it, that’s all. He’s so good at telling someone what they want to hear. Each time, I thought he really found me pretty, really wanted to kiss me, really wanted to..." She blushed and then grabbed her drink again. "But it wasn’t about that. It was about showing me how to pursue you, about taking the edge off for himself!" She tossed the drink back, praying for oblivion.

"That had to hurt."

She nodded. It _had_ hurt, damn it! "I didn’t really ask for much. All I wanted was for him to go through with pretending he meant those nice things or shut up. Is that too much to ask? It’s not like I ever thought we’d _be_ together."

"Are you in love with him?"

She shook her head violently, stopping abruptly as the world tilted for a moment. "God, no. Never. That would be stupid, wouldn’t it?"

"So?" Harry quietly asked. "Sometimes our hearts _are_ stupid."

Her jaw set. "No. I refuse to be in love with him. Can we talk about something else now?"

Harry watched her for a few moments. "Hm. Fine. We’ll change the topic."

She drew a relieved breath and raised her glass to her lips again, frowning when she found it empty and signalling with some coins that she wanted another one. It pleased her very much that she got it almost immediately.

"Hey, did you know that Malfoy fancies you?"

She choked on her drink and was caught in a coughing fit violent enough to make her face turn scarlet and her eyes water.

Harry simply sat there, watching and grinning, without seeing the need to save her from certain death.

"Preposterous," she finally managed to get out.

"Not really," he calmly said as if she weren’t wheezing for breath. "I think it’s been obvious for quite some time." He took a sip of his Butterbeer and waited for her reaction.

"Obvious to who?" Hermione insisted. "It certainly has never been obvious to me!"

"Yeah, that’s the part I don’t understand," Harry said, leaning back in his chair. "Why can’t you see it? You see so much but apparently not this."

"You misunderstand his need to bother me."

"Do I? So you’re saying he doesn’t have a soft spot for you?"

"Absolutely!"

"Then why did he buy you those robes? And that pendant? It was him, wasn’t it? I don’t know who else has that kind of capital..."

"That was only to—" She cut herself off.

"Thank you, Hermione. You just confirmed that he was the one you were talking about before."

She scowled. More dots connected. How she hated Harry’s penchant for solving mysteries right now. "I did no such thing! You’re confusing my poor alcohol-fogged mind!" She couldn’t keep the dots straight in her head right now. Here she’d thought he’d agreed to change the topic. Ugh. She needed another drink. Why didn’t this place have cake too? She needed the cake to dull the hum she’d felt in her body ever since she’d slept with Malfoy. Damn, she missed sex. He’d been right about that. She hated it when Malfoy was right about something; it was always at the expense of her inner peace.

Harry shook his head. "Don’t try that one with me. You told me that night that a rich friend bought you those robes to make you pretty for me. So, he’s bought you clothes and kissed you and... I don’t really want to think about what else, yet you _still_ don’t believe he likes you? The bloke must be doing something very right or very wrong, depending on what his goal is."

"Money doesn’t seem to matter to him. It was spent for his own amusement."

"And the kiss?"

"A lesson."

"In what?"

Why was he so relentless? Couldn’t he see the obvious manipulation here? "He was demonstrating how easy it would be to kiss someone. Using lies and flattery and fake sincerity. I hate him."

"Of course you do." He sounded strangely resigned.

She pointed at him. "Sound that patronising one more time and I’ll castrate you, using something very dull and dirty!"

He winced. "Graphic, Hermione!"

"Besides, you don’t want to set me up with Malfoy."

"No, I really don’t. I’ve tried to get you to get rid of him for _months_!"

She’d been about to take another drink from her glass but stopped in mid-motion to stare at Harry and then lowered it. "You’re not honestly saying _that_ is why you wanted him gone?"

Harry ignored her question, making her glance at him through the corner of her eye, wondering what else he thought he knew. He continued, "At the functions, he’s obviously _only_ there to talk to you. He’ll do a bare minimum of socialising if he has to, but he inevitably always ends up at your side. He’s not interested in connections or funding and doesn’t seem to give a fig about having a career beyond what he’s currently doing. In fact, before he began fancying you, he never even went to any of the events."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. He probably hadn't gone because he'd been _ill_ , but she couldn't quite betray that confidence, no matter what Draco had done to her. "I don’t like where this is going. Are you forgetting that he tried to make me go out with you?"

"Honestly?" Harry softly said. "I think he believes that’s what you’d want. You and I see so much of each other, and you know how some people don’t understand that we can be nothing but friends. We know that though selfish, he’s capable of putting at least certain people above himself."

_I know more about love than you’d think..._

She stared blindly ahead.

"Finally see the light?"

"If the light is that you’re _bonkers_ , certainly!" she responded, rather automatically.

Harry pursed his lips, looking far too smug to suit Hermione. "You’re right. It’s not like he’s ever done anything detrimental to himself in an attempt to please you."

_You wanted me to take charge._

She shook her head, trying to clear the webs. "He calls me names!"

"Like?"

"Chubs!"

This time it was Harry’s turn to snort his drink and choke, but for him it was a result of uncontrollable laughter. "You’re right," he finally managed to snigger. "That’s one malevolent name. Scarring, even."

She shot him a wounded look. "You know how sensitive I can be about my weight!"

"Honestly, it sounds to me like he finds you adorable. As do we all."

"He’s said I looked pregnant several times."

"Come on, Hermione. Don’t make me defend the bugger. We both know how he is. He’s probably trying to hide his attraction to you by insulting you, but he’s doing a really lousy job of it. His heart isn't in it."

"Even if it were true, he’d never admit it." And why would he? She wasn’t exactly someone he could condescend to be with, being a blood bigot and all.

_I can’t stand pure-bloods._

But who knew when he was saying the truth and when he was lying to show her how easy it was? It was all so confusing to her poor inebriated self.

"Now there we can agree," Harry said. "I mean... unless you make him admit it." He took a slow sip of his Butterbeer, watching her.

She shot him a sideways glance. "Remind me again why you’re doing this?" And why would she _want_ Malfoy to admit to anything? What good would come from that? He was still Malfoy.

He shrugged. "I really hope this is a temporary state, but you seem like you need to get it out of your system before you completely pickle that brain of yours."

"And if it isn’t temporary?" She really had to be drunk to ask that.

"Then I’d hope your kids would be more like you than him."

_I’m sterile. And, like my leg and many other side effects, that’s something that won’t change, even if they do find a way to get rid of the lingering curse._

She pushed away her glass and got to her feet.

"Finally had enough?" Harry asked.

"I think I’m going to be sick," she said, and then she turned around and left.

* * *

Avoiding Malfoy at work wasn’t really that easy, Hermione soon discovered. His office suddenly seemed very close to hers, as he’d be going past her door if he were to meet with anyone else in any of the departments that pertained to his interests.

Of course, she could close and lock her door, but considering how her door was always open unless she was having a meeting, Malfoy would see through that in no time.

She wasn’t even completely certain why she was avoiding him. Nothing had changed, really. 

Except Harry messing with her mind and making her think that maybe she might like Malfoy in some way that would be nothing if not extremely unhealthy.

Obviously, hiding until it all went away was the only option.

It wasn’t really all that difficult to set up a ton of meetings that took her far away from her office. Besides, Malfoy wasn’t exactly known for showing up five days a week anyway.

Not that he didn’t have a reason for that.

She immediately felt ashamed of how she was still automatically scoffing at Malfoy’s ‘lazy’ ways. It wasn’t like he could exactly help it when he was in pain and needed rest or medical attention. It was just... he’d done such a good job of keeping up the lazy front that it was still hard to remember the actual truth.

Damn him for being so confusing and full of lies.

She’d only just snuck back into her office for her—homemade—lunch on Wednesday, when the bugger pounced.

Or maybe he didn’t as much pounce as knock on her almost-closed door and swing it open, causing her to start and spin around like she’d been caught doing something she oughtn’t.

He’d obviously noticed, because he pursed his lips and shook his head as if she were a lost cause. "Lunch meeting?" he asked.

"Can’t today," she was quick to say. "I have lots of work."

His eyes narrowed. "You’re skipping meals now?"

"No, I brought something to eat..." She made an uncommitted gesture towards her bag. She wasn’t about to show him the lunch she’d packed at home. "Maybe you should go the traditional route and set up a meeting with my assistant?"

He leaned his shoulder against the door frame, something Hermione suddenly realised he did to take the weight off his bad leg. Why did she have to know this? _Why_? "I didn’t even think you remembered you had an assistant," he calmly said. "I mean, as far as I can tell, you don’t actually use his services. Didn't you reassign him to some office further down the hall?"

"He’s kept busy."

"But you don’t use him to make your own life easier."

"No, why would I? My job isn’t supposed to be easy."

Not that it was very hard these days, because Malfoy chose not to make it hard. Why was that again? Did he honestly hate pure-bloods or did he, as Harry seemed to think, like her? She really found the last option unlikely.

Malfoy shook his head. "My successor won’t be as easy to deal with and then you’re going to wish you had got used to using the available help."

She blinked. "Your successor? Are you leaving?"

"No," he muttered. "No... Not yet. But eventually it’ll have to happen."

"Why?"

He smirked at her. "I don’t know if you noticed yet, Granger, but I’m not actually very good at my job. Some day they’ll realise that and want to replace me." Then he pushed away from her door frame and left.

Hermione frowned. His words made sense, but something else didn’t. She had a very distinct feeling that he was using the truth to lie to her again.


	7. Chapter 7

By Tuesday, Hermione realised she’d better set up a meeting with Malfoy, soon.

The reason was fairly simple—cake.

Every day she hid and didn’t go to the canteen for lunch, Malfoy made certain that there was cake in her office. Deliciously spongy cake. It was simply sitting there, taunting her with its presence. One time she _almost_ managed to chuck the piece out, but... it would be such a waste. There were people starving in this world, after all.

He was a cruel, cruel man. He knew she had to eat the damn cake.

So gathering all of her righteous indignation, she sought out the offender, barging into his office like some sort of goods train.

"You can’t keep doing that!" she insisted, before he even had a chance to look up from his parchments.

He was seated in his lounger. Funny how, when she thought about it, it reminded her of a sickbed.

He shot her a confused glance. "Doing what?"

"The cake!" She knew she’d lost it but she didn’t even care. "Why do you hate me so?"

He pursed his lips, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Giving someone cake isn’t an act of hatred."

"You know how I struggle with it," she whinged.

"Then merely stop avoiding me," he quietly said. "I’m no different than before simply because you know of my condition."

She stared at him, frowning as she was working this out. "You thought I was avoiding you because of your... health issues... and sent me cake?"

He looked back down at his parchments, seemingly only half-interested in their conversation. "I knew it would be the quickest way to flush you out. You seem to think that a few ounces of extra padding on your thighs matter to anyone but you."

"But it does!"

"I can’t have this discussion with you, Granger. We’re never going to agree and it’s taxing."

She narrowed her eyes at him. They were never going to agree? That, she couldn't quite live with. Maybe it was time to educate him a bit. Without a word, she fished out her wand and made certain his door was closed and securely locked.

"Will this be the day you kill me, then?" he drily asked, watching her.

"Do I really need to _show_ you?"

He frowned. "Show me..?"

"My body!" He stared at her and she stared back at him in defiance, but when no comments were forthcoming, she said, "Well?"

He cleared his throat. "Well, what?"

"Do you really need me to show you how... unfortunate... I look under these?" she indicated her robes.

"Ah. So that’s what you’re trying to say... I _was_ wondering... In fact, I'm still kind of—"

"Why do you have to sabotage me? Does it amuse you to know that I hate my body?" She knew she was a bit like a broken record at this point, but she didn’t care. She was sick and tired of being ridiculed for wanting to lose weight. Yes, she knew that as a strong, modern witch, she ought to accept her own physique for what it was and have a stronger focus on being healthy within that frame. After all, a good self-esteem was the most attractive feature anyone could have.

Knowing how she _should_ feel didn’t magically change her feelings.

Malfoy didn’t reply right away. "Potter—"

"Screw Harry! I’m tired of being loved for my brains!" Wouldn't it be nice if just _once_ more in her lifetime someone would call her beautiful and actually mean on the outside?

He blinked. "That’s... a new one."

"I know! But I’m just so sick of hearing about how clever I am as if that's _all_ I am. I'm a woman too! Do you have any idea how confusing it is with you constantly lying to me, making me feel like rubbish, and sending me cake to sabotage me?"

_Why am I telling him this much?_ She knew she would be embarrassed later, but right now the anger made it hard to hold back. Maybe if she explained why some things bothered her, he’d stop doing them.

She didn't actually believe that. Yet she couldn't help pressing on.

"I never—" Malfoy began.

She cut him off again. "Don’t even try to lie to me again!"

"I _never_ lied to you when I said I was attracted to you, and I never tried to sabotage you. Quite the opposite, I think."

"What?"

He exhaled heavily, his head falling back against the lounger as if he were completely exhausted. "I might’ve... deliberately downplayed my attraction a bit. Didn’t realise it might matter to your perception of yourself."

Hermione eyed him sceptically. It was hard to trust anything he said at this moment. "You downplayed it? Like when you said you only slept with me because it was hard to find anyone at all to sleep with?"

He frowned, looking genuinely confused. "I don’t recall ever saying that."

"It was implied."

"I wish you wouldn't always believe the worst of me. Especially when it pertains to you."

"Why wouldn't I believe the worst when you so often confirm it as the truth?"

He chose not to address that, making her even more suspicious. Instead he said, "I don't actually understand why you pay any attention at all to anything I say." He shook his head as if truly baffled that his constant disparagement had an effect on her.

Clueless git.

"Because you're the only one saying what I want to hear. And then you take it back." She sounded pathetic. She hated sounding pathetic. She hated how pathetic kept escaping her mouth and how she cared about what he thought.

She really ought to meet new people. People that weren’t bigoted, manipulative, _evil_ sods, who could kiss a witch one second and tell her to go kiss someone else the next.

"I shouldn't be."

She shrugged. "Doesn't change things."

He looked away from her and then bit out, "What do you want me to do about it?"

Ouch. She'd kind of hoped for some reassurance, something to indicate that he wasn’t as indifferent as she’d thought. Maybe this was better. Maybe she ought to subject herself to a full dose of pure _Malfoy_ in order to get past whatever was making her feel this lost. "Tell me the truth."

"No. The only reason you’re even doing this is because you want to boost your ego. If you want an ego boost, go find Potter."

That told her a whole lot of nothing. Even if she _had_ asked to get an ego boost, it didn’t mean the truth would be one. Had he always been this evasive and misleading?

"Say you understand why I want to lose weight," she demanded.

He shrugged. "I understand the pressure of society's beauty standards, but I disagree with you trying to live up to them. They wouldn't suit you."

"Say you want me, then." It was pathetic. Truly pathetic. But since he wasn’t obliging her on giving her the cold, hard truth, she wanted to hear it again. Just hear it. Then she'd go.

"Didn't we already cover this?"

No, they hadn’t and they both knew it. He'd done everything he could not to answer any of her questions, and she couldn't help the feeling that it was because there was no good truth to lie to her with.

"Say you want me," she repeated.

"I don’t think you want to go down that—"

"Say it! Or admit you lied. It has to be one of those things, Malfoy."

He sighed, once more letting his head fall back with weariness. "Of course I want you."

"If you’re going to choose that option, at least say it like you mean it."

He looked at her for far too long before answering, making her nervous about what he was thinking. Why was she even doing this to herself? Maybe getting over her confusion wasn’t worth the inevitable blows to her already weak self-esteem. When he did reply, he didn't break eye contact. "Ask anyone with eyes whether I mean it, Granger. You're probably the only one left who hasn't noticed. I don’t think you appreciate how hard it is never to act on an attraction this strong."

"You did act on it." Although he’d made it fairly clear at the time that he’d simply used her, but those were details, right?

"How could any mortal man resist you that night?"

"So it was the robes." It was really too bad she couldn’t keep them now. She’d finally found a legitimate use for them. Whenever she needed to feel like she was more than a brain on legs, she could put them on and be wanted beyond reason by the most unlikely of men. True, it hadn't thrilled her that night when it had made Draco use her and Ron lose his head, but maybe that was the only way she could get that feeling she craved so much.

Then again, maybe it would be better if that never happened again. The dismissal afterwards had been almost more than she could handle.

"It was you looking more beautiful than any witch has any right to," he quietly said. "I succumbed. I thought downplaying it would make it easier for you to disregard what happened."

Easier? _Easier?_ Bollocks. He couldn’t honestly believe that. She certainly couldn't. "Do you have any idea how _confusing_ it's been?" Not to mention hurtful. In fact, she really shouldn’t mention how hurtful it had been.

"Why would you even care if I want you or not? It's not me you need to focus on."

"I just want to be wanted," she said, taking a few steps towards him. "Is that really so awful?"

"Have this conversation with Potter."

"No."

Slowly an expression of understanding that she didn't like spread across his features. "Ah. I see."

He clearly didn’t. "What do you see?"

"It's the thrill, isn't it? You don't get the same new, exciting sexual thrill from him because you know him too well, and you feel like you're missing out on it."

She cocked her head, marvelling at his talent for thinking up explanations that involved Harry. "And if that's it?"

"The thrill always eventually dies, Chubs. Don't throw away a good thing for something as fleeting as sex."

"Don't call me Chubs."

"But I like calling you Chubs."

She shook her head. "Don't tell me you want me and then insult me. You can't do that."

"It's not meant as an insult. It's... silly."

"It's not silly. It’s insulting. Patronising." And hurtful.

She really needed to work on _not_ letting Malfoy hurt her.

"It is silly. I want you. Potter wants you. As far as I can tell from that picture in the newspaper, Weasley still wants you as well. There are probably others that you never even noticed because you were too busy thinking they couldn't possibly ever look at you."

"Prove that I’m wanted." The words just sort of slipped out before she could stop them. Immediately, she wished they hadn’t. They were far too vulnerable.

"I can never win," he whispered. "Come here." He reached a hand out towards her.

At first she was confused as to why he didn’t even get out of the chair, but then she remembered the obvious and noticed the shadows under his eyes. He was having one of his fatigued days. What was she doing, badgering him to prove something so stupid to her when he was in such a poor condition? She really ought to snap out of it.

He let his hand drop. "You’d forgotten, hadn’t you?"

Yes, she had, but only for a minute. She shook her head. "I didn’t mean to..."

"It’s fine. Just leave." He looked away again.

She stared at him, flabbergasted. Why was he suddenly so dismissive? Did he really think she was shallow enough to not want him because of his physical condition? "What?"

"I gave you your ego boost. You don't have to follow through." He didn't as much as look in her direction whilst saying this. Instead he pretended to return to his work, but she could see he wasn't really reading his parchments. He merely stared stiffly at one specific spot.

"But I don't want to put you in a coma again..." Wasn't that what he'd said had happened last time? He'd said he'd strained himself so much he'd had to _drug_ himself, for crying out loud!

He shook his head. "No need to make excuses, Chubs. You forgot. Sometimes even I forget. I appreciate the honesty."

She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling uncomfortable and defensive. "What was it you said? 'I can never win'? Seems I can't either. Why not simply say no if you're not feeling well?"

"You asked me to prove that I wanted you."

She felt rotten for selfishly trying to pressure him into something he might not want to do simply so she could feel better. "You should've reminded me that you can't always cater to my whims."

"Why would I do that?"

She stared at him, uncomprehending, as she tried to make sense of his question.

He finally looked at her, his eyes bleak but his mouth twitching with dark humour. "I'll cater to your whims whenever you ask me to. You know that. You've known it since that night. That's why you're here."

If he thought he was telling the truth, that certainly didn't help her feeling of guilt. She hugged herself more closely and looked down. "You make me sound horrible."

"Then forgive me. I didn't mean to do that. I _want_ to cater to your whims, as I think I've proven adequately, so why wouldn't you come to me? Besides, I may be a little tired, but I definitely _could_... cater... to you today. Done right, I doubt I'd even need potions after."

"Then what did you mean with _I can never win_?"

"I don’t like feeling exposed. It's never wise to let a witch know she can lead you around by the cock—especially not when she's involved with someone you loathe."

"Do you feel like I'm doing that? Leading you around by your... cock?" She crinkled her brow. It sounded so crude put like that. Crude and exploitative. Did he really see her like that? Was it because he thought she was with Harry or something more deeply rooted?

"Probably not on purpose."

"Oh." Suddenly she felt like she should leave. She’d come in here pushing for validation, but she’d never thought he’d actually feel forced to give it. In a way, she’d truly believed he’d reject her. Actually she’d hoped he would, so she could get all of this nonsense out of her head. Instead he sounded like he felt cornered into agreeing to something he didn’t really want.

The embarrassment she’d failed to feel before was finally rearing its ugly head with a vengeance.

"Yes... maybe I could use that pity shag after all," he muttered.

Hermione couldn't help but snort a laugh at his dry tone, but then she looked up and caught his eyes. The sheer need in them took her breath away and stifled her laugh. He wasn't joking. She could see the question right there in his gaze. "You're confusing me again," she whispered.

"I'm sorry. I confuse myself a little. It really would be best if you simply left." He didn't sound like he meant it.

"I should get back to work," she said.

"Yes... you probably should." But he didn't stop looking at her _that_ way and it was causing a whole swarm of butterflies to flutter around in her belly.

The way she reacted to him honestly made no sense to her. She should avoid him like the plague. The way he kept changing his mind and talking out of both corners of his mouth was toxic to her emotional health.

She seemed to have a choice right now. Turn around and walk out the door or... what? Kiss him? Kissing seemed like such an intimate act. And maybe he didn't really want it. Maybe he simply felt compelled by her neediness. Maybe he'd even change his mind again. She nervously gnawed at her lower lip trying to make up her mind.

"I won't," he whispered.

"Won't what?" she asked.

"Turn you down."

"How did you—?"

"You're fairly transparent at times, Chubs. You looked so distressed, verging on unhappy. That's how you usually look when your insecurities get the better of you."

He knew exactly how she looked when she was insecure? That sealed it. She didn't use to _have_ enough insecurities for a look, let alone a look that anyone would recognise. She needed to regain her courage—be the Hermione she once was.

She needed to do something outrageous and simply deal with whatever the consequences were to prove to herself that she still _could_.

With hands that only shook a little, she grabbed her robes and pulled them off.

"Whoa!" he said, sitting up straighter. "That’s... to the point."

She shrugged, trying to ignore the fact that she was showing off some fairly unflattering stretch marks along with everything else. If he wanted it, he _got_ it, damn it! If he didn’t... well, no reason to go there before she had to, but she decided to believe it would all be for the better either way. It was the only way she could do this.

"Easier to do this without robes," she said, straddling his legs, careful to put the weight on her knees on either side of him, rather than on him. This chair of his was fortunately big enough for this not to be a problem at all.

"Your weight won't hurt me," he said, again reading her mind. Or, possibly, her transparent actions.

"Better safe than sorry," she muttered.

"No." He grabbed her legs and pulled at them, making her lose balance so she sat down heavily in his lap. "I'm not made of porcelain, Granger. I won't break. I don't like being treated like I should be in a protective bubble."

"Maybe if you'd tell me exactly what would cause you pain rather than lie and avoid the subject," she shot back.

"I'm not as bad off as you seem to think. I've managed to hide it from you for months, haven't I?"

"By lying and making yourself look lazy by hardly ever showing yourself, yes!"

"I _am_ lazy. And I'm fine as long as I don't have to do acrobatics."

"Regular missionary position sex is hardly acrobatics, yet you had to go into a self-induced coma after!"

He sighed and leaned his forehead against her shoulder for but a moment, making her shiver as his warm breath brushed her neck. "I shouldn't have said that." He looked up at her. "I'd been on my feet all day, Chubs. I was running around town to get things done. I knew I shouldn’t have made it seem like it was only the sex as soon as I’d said it, but I didn’t know how else to convince you that I wasn’t about to pressure you to make it a regular thing..."

She arched an eyebrow. There were so many things wrong with this whole statement, and also... "Running around town? You couldn’t Apparate to spare yourself?"

He pursed his lips. "Do we really need to talk so much right now? Weren't we going to do something a little more... fun?"

"No. Tell me."

He arched an eyebrow right back at her and gave her underwear-clad form a lingering look. "No?"

"No. Maybe later." Right now she felt remarkably unbothered by her lack of clothing. She liked that. It made her feel... free.

He gave her bare thighs a light squeeze that reminded her of her rather absurd position, but it didn't put a dent in how comfortable she was. "All right, then," he conceded. "No, I can neither use the Floo network nor Apparate. It usually makes me vomit when I do, and the Healers don't like it when I do things that make it harder for me to keep down food. I tend to agree with them on that one. The only times I Apparate is when they send someone from St Mungo's to take me along. So... yes, I walked a lot that day."

She shook her head. Of course. That explained a lot. "To get the formal robes and the necklace."

"Among other things, yes."

"And you refuse to use a cane."

"In public, yes."

"Remind me again why your condition has to be such a big secret?"

"Because it's nobody's business." The stubborn set of his jaw invited no argument.

"Fair enough," she easily agreed.

He made a sarcastic sound. "You don't really think so."

She shook her head. "No, I actually do. Your health, your business."

"Thank you."

"But of course _I_ still need all the details," she couldn't help but point out. She felt like her current position at least should give her some bargaining power.

"Of course." His eyes glinted with something akin to amusement.

"At least if you want me to ride you silly."

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, swallowing. "What more do you want to know?" he then asked in a hoarse voice.

She hid a delighted grin at his reaction and grabbed the opportunity to quiz him. "Are you really recovering?" 

He hesitated. She didn't like that at all.

"Draco?"

"Mostly, yes," he hedged. "There have been a few setbacks, but aren't there always?"

"Don't use the truth to lie to me."

He shrugged but didn’t look her in the eye. "The truth is, I'm not certain. I mean, up until recently it seemed like it was all moving forward, but... basically, nobody knows."

"What happened recently?"

"It's not important." He began massaging her thighs and it was mildly distracting but nice, as she was beginning to get a little chilled and his hands were warm.

"Good. Then you'll have no problems telling me," she persevered.

"It'll completely kill the mood... We don't want that, do we?" he muttered, gazing out at her from under heavy eyelids.

She wasn't going to fall for that attempt at manipulation. Not even if his hands were moving up her hips, bringing delicious electricity with them.

"Either you tell me or—"

"Or what?"

"I'll leave." It was a weak threat, considering she'd been the one to initiate this, but it was all she had.

The brief flash of annoyance in his eyes and the way his fingers flexed around her waist told her that he was exactly as aware of this as she was. "For fuck's sake, Granger!"

"Why is it you don't want me to know this?"

"You'll make a fuss."

"Then there's something to make a fuss about!"

He was now massaging her lower back and it was really hard to keep eye contact and not give in to how nice it felt. She had to fight back a purr.

"I'm fine now," he murmured, attempting his wiles again. "No need for a fuss. Promise."

"Draco..." She wished that hadn't come out as part groan.

His hands stopped massaging her and he merely watched her quietly for a few seconds. Finally he said, "My heart stopped."

That shocked her out of the trance his hands had been putting her in and it felt like he'd shot a cold clammy hand into her chest and was squeezing hard. She had to concentrate hard on breathing to get the oxygen she needed. "What?"

"It wasn't for long. I was already at St Mungo's for tests."

"But what if you hadn't been? When was this?"

He sighed. "I knew you'd make a fuss. They gave me that—" He motioned towards a small delicate glassy ball with a swirling golden smoke inside that was presiding on the tray that was currently his makeshift desk. "—and if I feel any of the warning signs again, I'm to break it and they will immediately come and get me. I'm as safe as I can be under the circumstances."

"And _when_ was this?"

He hesitated again, but finally reluctantly answered, "Remember when I was going for a second holiday?"

"When you made it seem like you were merely extraordinarily lazy?" She punched his chest, because she couldn't keep the frustration in. "When you merely _sat_ there and had cake before going again? Yes, damn you, I remember."

He grabbed her hand and coaxed it to open so he could entwine his fingers with hers. "Going back was only a precaution because I suddenly had some chest pains again after coming in to work. But it turned out to be nothing. I've been fine since, really."

"Stop lying to me," she whispered.

"I'm not..." He used his free hand to push back a lock of her hair. "I swear it's the truth. Some days I'm even better than fine."

"What days?"

The corner of his mouth drew up into a half-smile. "Days when gorgeous witches come into my office and drop their robes and promise to ride me silly come to mind."

"That happens a lot, huh?"

His half-smile turned into a full grin. "I can't complain."

"So maybe I should leave before one of them gets here?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why would you do that? I can't think of a single more gorgeous witch."

He was all flattery now to please her, wasn't he? She couldn’t deny it was working. She bent forward, putting her hands on his shoulders and very slowly and carefully placed her lips against the very corner of his mouth that seemed to always want to draw up at her expense. He stilled but didn’t draw back. Not exactly encouraged but not discouraged either, she gently brushed her lips against his. Feeling a grin spread under her lips, she drew back to give him a puzzled look.

"You taste sweet," he said with a slightly teasing quality to his voice.

Sweet. The cake. Immediately embarrassed, she jerked back, but he was quick to grab the back of her head and kiss her, much more thoroughly than before, his lips coaxing hers apart.

She liked the way he kissed her. He kissed her like she was still the thin, active teenager who could kick dark wizard bum _and_ be asked out by famous Quidditch players. He kissed her like he didn't see any stretch marks or cellulite anywhere on her body. He kissed her like she was the sexiest witch alive.

And it wasn't merely the lips-on-lips part of the kiss.

It was the way his one hand held her head in place, preventing her from bolting, whilst his other hand slid back up her thigh to her waist, where he curled his hand around her side and drew her closer, into his warmth. It felt protective. Possessive. Like he didn't want to let go. And she could definitely feel the effect this kiss already had on him from where she was sitting. 

She told herself that the warmth that rushed through her was simply from feeling wanted. Physically. Nothing else.

"Problem..." he murmured against her lips. "If you really want more than kissing, my robes are in the way."

It was true. She'd have to get off him and he'd have to get up to get rid of his robes. At least if they used the conventional way. She drew back her head and narrowed her eyes at the robes. They _were_ a rather fanciful kind with buttons all the way down the front.

"Would be quicker if I got up," he said, doing that annoying thing again where he guessed her thoughts.

She pursed her lips in amusement. "I don't think it's ever good to assume that quicker is better when it comes to sex," she couldn’t help but say.

Then she set out to open his robes, one button at a time. And with each reveal of skin, she had to explore a bit with her fingers, lips and tongue against his smooth, warm skin.

By the time she reached his stomach, he was trembling, but otherwise neither moving nor saying anything. She'd have preferred it if he'd once more told her pretty things, but she supposed the trembling spoke volumes on its own.

He _wanted_ her and that was all she needed. That was the reason she was here; he’d been right about that.

She kissed the warm, taut skin of his belly and let her fingers run up and down his ribs, delving in at the far too pronounced intercostal gaps. "You really do need more cake," she murmured, feeling her lips vibrate against his skin.

He laughed. It was a rather choked sound. "I'd love to have more cake but sweets make me nauseous."

She looked up. "Really?"

He made a small nod. "I have a long list of foods that I can't currently handle, but it used to be longer. Believe it or not, I even used to be thinner."

"Hmm." She opened a few more buttons whilst considering that, moving down his frame to accommodate her endeavour. She couldn't even begin to fathom how badly off Malfoy had been, but at least he really did seem to be getting better. That was good. She didn't want to consider the implications of anything else.

"Hey!" he muttered, smoothing her hair back from her face. "If you're going to think about my body right now, I'd prefer those thoughts to be a little less serious and a little more fun."

"Sorry," she replied, realising she was running out of buttons. What next? She bit her lip, considering. "Underwear off!" she then demanded.

He grinned. "I'd love to, but there's this witch on me..." he said. She obliged his complaint by standing up and he groaned. "I didn't mean it like that! Come back!"

"Underwear first. And shoes and socks too, just for good measure."

He obliged her and pushed down his underwear with one swift motion, kicking it the rest of the way off. Shoes and socks went off without him even using his hands. Talk about perfecting the art of not getting up. "Now get back here, pretty witch," he said.

She looked him over, biting her lip again. Skinny or not, she liked looking at his body. Especially one thing stood out, so to speak.

He held out his hand to her, but she ignored it, kneeling down next to his thigh. Oh, yes. Even upon closer inspection, everything looked... appetising.

"The floor is cold, Granger..."

It actually was a bit chilly, but not cold enough for Hermione to let it interfere with her immediate plans. Ignoring his weak objections, she grabbed his shaft and lowered her head, taking a lot of pleasure in how his entire body stiffened and he hissed when her lips touched his glans.

She'd figured he might like that.

Besides, it felt nice to feel like she could draw out and control his need. She opened up her mouth to take him in and she felt more than saw him letting his head fall back on a sigh. She began massaging him with her hand and mouth, giving in to the sheer _feel_ of the situation. The coolness and the hardness of the floor didn't matter. All that mattered was that she had the power to make him squirm, the power to make him lose control.

The power to make him want her so much he couldn't hold back.

It actually didn't take that long for him to begin to lose control. His breath became erratic and he quite suddenly sat up, attempting to stop her.

She wasn't about to leave this unfinished, though.

"Enough, Granger. Enngh... I..." His breath caught before he soldiered on through gritted teeth. "I have no stamina for this. Feels too good. Been too long."

She chuckled around him. Yeah, she could feel that. She could also feel the way he was suddenly gasping and grabbing on to her shoulder and neck, urging her on.

He'd reached the point of no return. She could feel it in the way his fingers dug in and the way he couldn’t help but thrust against her.

She didn't mind. As long as she kept her hand in place he wasn't going to hurt her even if he completely lost it. She felt him stiffening, tensing, and then he made a desperate sound that sounded like a mix between a groan and a growl as the warm, tangy liquid hit the back of her mouth.

She kept massaging him until he relaxed, and then she casually reached for her wand to clean up a bit. Since she hadn't exactly brought a toothbrush, spells would have to do.

"Damn it, Granger..." he said, sounding drained. "Why didn't you let me stop you?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you going to tell me that you didn't enjoy that?"

"It's going to be hard for me to reciprocate that here. I don't kneel well and when it comes to second rounds, I'm afraid I take a little longer than your average wizard to get ready for those these days."

"Who talked about reciprocation?"

He looked over her underwear-clad form as if to say, _Then why get undressed?_ and said, "Come spend the night with me tonight. After work. Don’t go home, come straight to me. I’ll make it worth your while."

Spend the night? With Draco? In _his bed_?

It was tempting, very tempting. She could simply go home with him and he’d do everything she’d been wanting him to do to her. She knew without a doubt that he would. But then, what would happen after? Would he kick her out? Dismiss her like he had last time?

Would it still be worth it?

When she realised she was actually considering it, Hermione knew she was in deep trouble.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione wavered a bit, unable to decide what to do about Malfoy's invitation. Somehow visiting him at his home didn’t seem like such a good idea. It seemed too... intimate. Too dangerous. Too much like something that could lead to misunderstandings. "Maybe," she finally said in reply to the invitation.

"Maybe?"

"I don't know..."

"Feeling guilty now?"

She shrugged. Whilst she actually had no reason to feel guilty, something about him made her feel cautious. It was all well and good to indulge in fantasies of being wanted every once in a while, but to get too used to it from the likes of him... that couldn't be good.

She shivered a little. It really was getting cold.

"Come here," he muttered, drawing her up in his oversized chair to snuggle against him, and summoning his cloak. It was a nice, warm cloak.

"My robes are right over there..." she pointed out, feeling too snug to actually move.

He kissed the top of her head and massaged the side of her hip. "I'll just warm you up for a minute." His arm brushed her breast, and she shivered for a reason that had nothing to do with being cold.

He hesitated and then slid his hand to the front of her knickers. They were soaked and he made a strangled sound when he realised it. "I really should've stopped..." he muttered, lightly rubbing her through the cloth. "Paced myself to give you what you needed."

It felt far too good. She couldn't help but open her legs a little wider. He carefully slipped a few fingers inside her knickers and began rubbing the bare flesh.

She whimpered before she could check herself and buried her face in his neck.

"Come see me tonight," he whispered. "I'll take you any way you want to be taken. It won’t be a problem."

She pressed against him, simply afraid he would stop touching her now. But when he removed his fingers it was only to press a couple of them up inside her, stroking, massaging, making her desperate to feel more.

She grabbed his head and kissed him rather forcefully and he kissed her back, never stopping his caresses.

She was so close. _So close._ All she needed was... was... He moved his other hand up and squeezed her breast, palming her nipple, and she immediately came. She arched up against his hands and rode it out, whilst he breathed those sweet things she'd wanted to hear earlier in her ear, forcing her to hold back just a little bit out of fear that she'd otherwise accidentally show him exactly how susceptible she'd become to him.

Afterwards, she felt about as shattered as he looked. "I should get back to work..." was all she could think of saying.

"Stay for a little bit. They'll merely think we're arguing again."

She grinned. "I need more of these kinds of arguments." Although she could live without the emotional drain.

"As do I..." He pulled up the cloak to cover both of them better and yawned. "A nap would be nice too."

"We can't nap during office hours."

"Of course we can. I do it all the time."

She couldn't help but snort a laugh. "Of course you do."

"Come to me tonight," he whispered.

"I'll think about it."

"No. Don't think. Just do. He'll never know."

That woke her up a bit. He still believed she was cheating on Harry. That... actually grated, but she wasn't certain why. "Can I ask you something?" she said, before she could think better of it.

"You can ask..."

"You keep saying it's been a long time since you... you know, slept with anyone before me. How long?"

"Argh." She could feel him recoil at the question. Interesting.

"Come on..." she coaxed.

"Not exactly the post-coital conversation I want to have," he muttered, sounding less than pleased with her.

"Draco!"

He sighed. "You’ll never let this go if I don’t tell you, will you? All right. Fine." He paused before reluctantly going on, "It was shortly after I was first able to leave my sickbed."

"You were already up to it then?"

She could feel him cringe. "Not... entirely. But it had been a _really long time_ already. And I was lonely. People weren't exactly standing in line to see me when I was confined to my bed."

"Oh. Right. But you sound like it only happened once?" She twisted to look up at his face. He was squirming and didn't look at her.

"Yeah... It... It wasn't quite what I'd hoped it would be. Can we drop this again?"

"Why are you so uncomfortable with this?"

She could feel his throat working as he swallowed. "Like I said, not my favourite post-coital conversation..."

It had to be bad. She should probably let it drop, but she found herself unable to. "What happened?" she quietly asked. "Were you too ill to go through with it?"

"No, no, nothing like that. It was just... I paid her, all right?"

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"I was randy and desperate to feel like a human being again and... well, long story short, I didn't have the energy to go about finding someone who'd be willing to work around my physical condition the old-fashioned way."

"Huh." That was kind of sad.

"I was worse off back then."

"Yeah, I figured."

He groaned. "I told you. Not the best of topics."

Hermione frowned. "No, that's not it. It's just... why did it disappoint?"

"Ah. That." He looked more uncomfortable than ever. "I'd been spoiled before my curse, I suppose. My fiancée was passionate and fun in everything she did, including sex. The one I paid was... well, uninvested would be the nice way to put it, I suppose. It made me feel dirty. Like I'd forced her. I tried getting rid of the feeling by overpaying her but it didn’t work. That wasn't something I cared to try again."

Hermione struggled to sit up, leaning on an elbow. "Fiancée?" She knew she was missing the point of his story, but what could she say about it, really? It sounded like it had been a miserable situation for everyone involved and she was beginning to pity his discomfort.

"Oh. Uh, _ex_ -fiancée now, of course." He relaxed a bit. He seemed to find this topic safer, which was funny considering how Hermione was feeling a rather irrational sense of dread and upset stir inside her. She tried to push it away, but it was too persistent to disappear that easily.

"What happened?"

"The curse."

"She left you because of that?"

He snorted a short laugh. "You didn't know her to even ask that. She would never have left willingly. She was determined to come see me every day, no matter if I was lucid or not. " His eyes gained a faraway look as he got lost in his past. "If I slept, she’d climb into the bed with me, even though one time I had a seizure and gave her a black eye. She'd tell me about everything that was going on and make my wretched existence bearable."

Hermione once more tamped down the intensifying dark sensation of dread in the pit of her stomach and forced herself to dig deeper. "But then what..?"

It took him a while to answer, and when he did, it was with a fair bit of reluctance. "I couldn't let her live like that, could I? I was of no use to her. Even when I was awake, I was hardly good company. I couldn't go out to dance with her—she loved to dance—could barely even walk. I couldn't go anywhere with her because even if I did manage to leave the house, I'd either faint, vomit or get violent seizures. And then I learned that I wouldn't even be able to give her that child she'd always wanted, even if I'd get well enough to have sex again, which was highly doubtful in and of itself at that time."

"So you let her go," Hermione whispered, the churning inside her now so strong it was making her physically ill.

He smiled rather sarcastically. "'Letting someone go' sounds so peaceful, don't you think? She'd have none of that. I had to painfully cut her out of my life. I had to be the biggest arse to her that you can imagine, and I'm certain you can imagine a lot... Only then was I able to convince her to go."

Hermione had a sudden flashback to something he'd once told her about love.

_I know more about it than you’d think. More than I want to know. I know that when it’s there, it doesn’t simply go away again, no matter how much you want it to. I know it makes you want things you should never want, hope for things that can never happen. I know it makes you want the other one’s happiness, even when the road to it is killing you inside. I know that it makes you a bloody fool_ every single day _because you can’t stop thinking about them, even when they don’t spare you a second glance. I probably know more than you do and I honestly wish I knew less about it._

"She's the one," she murmured, feeling an odd numbness spreading through her. What had she expected, really? At least there had been _someone_ and he hadn’t simply made it all up to mess with her.

"Hm?"

"The... the one you told me about. The one you loved."

"Ah..." By the wariness in his eyes, it was clear he'd forgotten ever saying anything.

She didn’t really want to think too much about the night he’d first kissed her either. "Didn't you try to make up with her when you got better?" Why was she doing this to herself?

He seemed largely ignorant of the effect this conversation was having on her. "What would be the point of that, Chubs? I was still sterile. Besides, she'd married. There's even a child now, as far as I understand. She has the life she always wanted."

"But you're not in it!" The words were out before she quite knew what she meant by them. "I-I mean, she intended to marry you first." She ducked her head, happy that he would have a hard time seeing her flaming cheeks the way she was curled against his chest.

"Life happens to all of us and changes our plans as you well know. I'm certain that she's perfectly fine. More than fine. Happy. Happier than I could’ve made her."

"If she loved you, she might not have minded not having children." 

"And because I loved her, I spared her that choice! I was hardly any prize then, and I'm not much of one now. I still can't go dancing or travelling or anything to that effect. Being with me would have meant denying everything she was. I couldn't have lived with that."

That cemented Hermione's suspicions. Draco still loved his ex-fiancée. He probably even loved her too much to attempt to drag _her_ into some sordid affair, talking her into cheating on her husband.

That this knowledge made it feel like the bottom fell out of Hermione’s stomach, leaving a vortex of emotions she couldn’t even begin to identify, was incidental. Also, nonsensical. So they’d messed about a bit—what had she honestly expected? That he’d start caring about her? The notion was laughable at best. Pitiable at worst.

"I'm sorry things didn't turn out better for you," she forced herself to say.

He shrugged. "It's past."

Except she didn't believe that. She believed it was very much present. Her naked skin burned against his, reminding her what had happened mere moments ago. Reminding her of how she’d begged to be wanted and how she’d got her wish but it _wasn’t enough_. She needed to get away—get away from the heat of his skin, from his ex-fiancée, from _him_. Oh, how she wished she hadn’t come here today.

She began to get up.

"You're leaving?" he asked.

"I really need to get some work done," she said, avoiding his eyes by scanning the room for her robes, although she already knew where they were.

"I see. About tonight..?"

"Oh." She’d already forgotten he’d wanted to see her again. How could she even consider it, knowing what she now knew? How could _he_? "I... really don't think that's a good idea. You know, Harry and everything." She quickly got to her feet and grabbed her robes, pulling them on.

He sighed. "Of course."

"I'm sorry about not delivering on my promise."

"What promise?"

"To ride you."

He laughed. "You have nothing to be sorry about, love. I thought my enthusiasm had shown that."

She shrugged and awkwardly looked away. She didn't know what to say next. Out of all the things that could have happened, she'd never thought she'd find herself in this position. She felt as devastated and guilty as if she'd really just cheated on someone. She had to remind herself that it wasn’t possible to cheat on a memory. 

It didn’t help.

"It's ok," Draco finally said. "He'll never know. There's no need to tell him. It didn't mean anything."

_It didn’t mean anything._

She took a few deep breaths. No, of course it didn’t mean anything. She was overreacting. It must be some sort of post-coital hormone cocktail doing this to her.

Even she was becoming sick of her own excuses. But she couldn't face the obvious.

"Is that supposed to make it any better, though?" she could not help herself saying. "To do this... for no reason? At least if it meant something, there’d be a defence."

He leaned back and gave her a weary look. "Then tell him. He won't be happy, but I doubt it will break you apart. If it will make you feel better, don’t let me stand in the way."

She snorted. "He'd hex the hell out of you."

Draco slowly shook his head. "I doubt that, actually. But if he does... then I suppose I deserve it for sleeping with his girl, don't I?"

"Technically, I don't think we made it past foreplay." _This time._

"Technically, I don't think that matters."

"Right. You're right, of course. Well... I'd better go." 

She made a beeline for the door.

She'd almost succeeded in opening it when Draco said, "And, Chubs?"

"Yes?" she asked without turning back around.

"If you do change your mind... you can always come by."

She opened the door and fled.

* * *

Harry narrowed his eyes at Hermione as she took a long, healthy swig of the glass in front of her. She'd made him come down to a bar again, so she wouldn't have to be alone with her misery. She really couldn't handle being alone right now. "I’m really not going to keep support you doing this," he warned her.

"It’s water," Hermione said, referring to the clear liquid.

Harry snorted. "Yes. Of course."

"No, really. See for yourself!" She offered him the glass.

With only a short hesitation, Harry took the glass from her and then first sniffed it before having a careful sip. Eyes widening, he exclaimed, "It _is_ water!"

"Told you. " Hermione took back her glass and put it down, staring into it as she’d been doing before Harry arrived.

"Um, any reason we’re going to a bar to drink water?" Harry carefully asked.

She shrugged and took another unsatisfactory yet still healthy mouthful. "It was either that or sit at home drinking alcohol. Drinking water at home completely lacks any kind of effect. "

Harry grinned before being able to help himself but then coughed into his hand. Hermione appreciated him checking his amusement. She was far too glum to be able to laugh at her own idiosyncrasies right now.

"So... him again?" Harry guessed.

She didn’t even have the energy to deny it. "It’s really becoming pathetic, isn’t it?"

"What did he do?"

She stared at her glass. _Oh, nothing. I simply discovered that I don’t want him to be in love with someone else, which is sort of a big problem, considering how he definitely is._

"He wants me to cheat on you," was what she said.

Harry snorted. "You didn’t tell him the truth yet?"

"No. Don’t plan to."

"Why not?"

"What does it matter?" She took another miserable taste of the woefully tasteless water.

"Oh, I don’t know. Maybe once you sort out that no cheating is necessary, you will stop dragging me down to bars in the middle of the week."

"Didn’t drag. You’re free to leave." She drained her glass and motioned for more. The barman gave her an odd look as he refilled it. She really _had_ hit rock bottom. Well, if Harry left she would revert to actual alcohol and everyone would be happy... or something.

"You know I’m not leaving," Harry scoffed. "But I honestly don’t understand any of this."

"He’d never ask _her_ to cheat," Hermione muttered, more to herself than Harry. "He’d never interfere with her happiness." She shook her head. She knew that if Malfoy had rejected her, she’d have been moody about that as well. Still, nothing could stop her from feeling hurt right now so she’d damn well wallow in it.

"Hermione?"

"He wanted me to visit him tonight. But I can’t. I just... can’t. I won’t."

"Then don’t."

"I’m not. Can’t you see that I’m very actively not?"

"Ah. I see."

Hermione felt completely unbidden and perplexing tears welling in her eyes. She knew that there was no real problem, so how was she supposed to explain how she felt? This whole thing had gone beyond embarrassing. She had somehow developed feelings for someone who had preyed on her insecurities for his own amusement for the better part of her life. Someone who clearly loved another. Someone who was likely to mostly want her because she didn’t require any work at all to seduce.

When she didn’t speak, Harry began drumming a staccato on the bar top with the tips of his fingers. There wasn’t much else for him to do, after all.

"I suppose..." she finally muttered. "I wish things were a little different." Understatement of the year.

"Like?"

"Like..." She bit her lip. How to put this? "Like he didn’t only want some sordid affair. I mean, I’m not saying I want to be _romantically_ involved with him—" _Liar_ "—but why did he have to believe I was with you before he wanted to sleep with me?"

"You could ask him that."

She shook her head. "No, thanks."

Harry hesitated. "You do know about... I mean, since you’ve been a little too candid about what’s happened between the two of you, I assume you’ve noticed... that things are... off about him?" He was clearly looking for words to phrase his question as vaguely as possible without losing its meaning entirely.

"He told you about his curse?" Hermione was more than a little surprised that Draco should show Harry that kind of confidentiality.

Harry gave her an odd look. "Told me? Hermione, I was there."

* * *

_What?_

"You were _there_?"

"Yes. I was making my first pickup as an Auror when Malfoy was attacked." He scowled. "From the looks of it, he neglected to tell you that little detail. No matter. I only eventually _saved his life_."

"Oh. So you are ‘some Auror’."

"That’s how he referred to me?" Harry looked incredulous. "Prat. Next time, I’m saving the heroics for someone more deserving."

"You never told me this."

Harry shrugged and shot her an awkward glance. "I’m really sorry. His mother asked me not to tell anyone. I made a promise. We all thought Malfoy was going to die and I felt sorry for the lot, not to mention guilty for what had happened. Prior to the heroics, I mean. We agreed that no one needed to know he was cursed by some filthy madman in the courtyard of Azkaban on the day he was supposed to have been released."

"He was supposed to be released that day?" Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Yeah. That’s why I was there. I was supposed to escort him out. Obviously did a bloody fine job of it too." The last bit was delivered with a bitter sarcasm Hermione had never heard from him before.

"You couldn’t have known, Harry," she said, trying to soothe him. "And didn’t you just say you saved his life?"

"I did save his life. Barely. But if I’d done my job properly, he wouldn’t have suffered at all. I’m quite certain there’s some kind of irony to that, but I can’t be arsed to find it." He knotted his hands on the bar top in front of him. "Anyway, I lost sight at what I was getting at. What was it? Oh, yes... he’s damaged, Hermione. In more ways than one, really, but mostly in this one. He’s been recovering very slowly and you can’t expect him to have many resources left over for... other matters."

Left over for silly things like commitment, he meant. Romance. Relationships.

Who’d said she wanted any of that, anyway?

"Point taken," she said in a clipped voice.

He shot her a wary look. "No need to get cross with me, Hermione. I only meant—"

"I know what you meant, thanks."

Harry sighed. She didn’t really blame him. She knew she was being too harsh on him, but somehow she didn’t seem to be able to stop scowling. She should apologise, but she didn’t feel like it. She would have to do that later.

Right now she was too busy feeling sorry for herself.


	9. Chapter 9

If there was one thing Hermione would never admit to being, it was a coward. Yet, here she was, clearly acting like one. She’d managed not to go to Draco’s house that night and now she didn’t know how to face him, didn’t know how to respond to his questions about why she hadn't come or whether she’d come some other night. She certainly wouldn’t know how to respond if he acted like he’d never even invited her. Or if he acted like he didn’t care if he ever got her alone again. Her solution, albeit a temporary one, was to avoid him altogether. If she did everything in her power not to see him again, he wouldn’t be able to hurt her with his reaction or lack thereof... right?

As it would turn out: Wrong.

At first, dodging him was much the challenge she expected. Then... nothing. Quite literally nothing. He didn’t come by, he didn’t send her any cake or more traditional messages, and there weren’t even any reasons to come see him professionally.

It was aggravating.

Most likely it was yet another of his tactics to get her to stop avoiding him but it was working, damn it. How could she allow him to get away with ignoring _her_? She hadn’t deserved that! All she’d done was hide for a while after learning what she considered to be an ugly truth. Maybe his ego was a bit bruised but stuff that! If her feelings could take the hit, then so could his damn ego.

So off she stomped to his office to give him a piece of her mind.

What she found when she threw open the door had her staring for several long moments before she had to blink and her brain finally began processing what she was seeing.

Nothing.

Nothing was there. The whole office had been stripped bare of the clutter that had been very much Draco’s mark on the room. There were no pieces of parchment on his desk, no quills and ink, no pieces of outerwear on the hook beside the door or casually on the edge of his desk, no mugs. And perhaps even more damning—there was no overstuffed lounger. What _was_ left was a wooden desk, no chair, in the middle of a completely stripped room with bare walls.

She realised there’d even been a painting before. Some kind of landscape. She spent another moment musing over why she would only really realise it had been there now that it was gone and why she should even care, before it hit her.

He was gone.

Ice seemed to cover the inside of her chest and she struggled to breathe. He was _gone_. Was he dead? He could be dead and nobody had bothered to tell her. No, they would tell her, wouldn’t they? Or would they assume she didn’t care? She certainly hadn’t acted like she cared, had she? Panic filled her. She’d been so busy being childish that she had never even considered how sick he was. Stupid. How stupid. How selfish of her. He’d _tried_ to send her a message, but she'd ignored it! What if it had been important? What if...

She suddenly felt a wave of dizziness and nausea and had to support herself against the doorpost. This was too much to take.

Trying hard to get a grip, she took a deep breath. Then another. Feeling a fraction calmer, she decided that since she didn’t actually know what had happened, perhaps burying Draco was a bit premature. She pushed away from the doorpost and went to see her long-neglected assistant on shaky legs that constantly threatened to give out.

Unsurprisingly, he looked startled to see her. She _never_ came to see him voluntarily.

"Miss Granger?" he asked as if unsure what to think about her being there.

On a better day she might have been amused. "I have—" Her voice broke and she had to clear her throat before trying again. "I have some personal effects of Mr Malfoy’s. Do you have an address to which I might send them?" Why she was all of a sudden speaking so formally, she had no idea. All she knew was that her brains weren’t functioning properly at the moment.

"I could send them," he offered.

"No... that’s all right," she said. "I’ll do it myself. The address will do." Besides, there were no ‘effects’. She had nothing of Draco’s. Absolutely nothing. She didn’t even have those blasted robes he’d purchased any longer. She’d made herself sell them back because keeping them had seemed foolish at the time.

Now she felt foolish for giving them up.

He shot her an odd look but obligingly opened a drawer and quickly fished out a piece of parchment before copying the address down for her. He seemed extremely organised, but then again, with a desk as empty as his, there was probably little else to do but sort drawers. Perhaps Draco had been right and she should give the wizard a chance to earn his keep.

He handed her the bit of parchment and Hermione took it without saying a word. She couldn’t find it in herself to discuss something as mundane as work right now.

* * *

A half hour later, Hermione was only feeling even more stupid. She’d gone to the address and lingered in confusion and horror outside the clearly empty building. It certainly didn’t look lived in. Then again... this was the address she’d been given for returning his effects, and his parents wouldn’t have been so quick to empty his home, would they?

She’d probably never know if they would, because a few minutes after she arrived she had to duck behind a tree when a very living Draco Malfoy exited the front door, locking it behind himself and throwing the key in the letter box, before he vanished around the corner. He was holding a silver cane, which vaguely annoyed her, considering his adamant refusal to use one when last she’d spoken to him, but that hardly even bore mentioning.

He wasn’t dead and she was relieved about that. Happy, even.

Rather, he’d _chosen_ to leave without as much as a note of goodbye, clearly with no intention of returning. He must have known for a while now that he would be leaving. How else could he have cleared out so completely both from work and his home? He must have known already when he’d said she could come by any time she wanted. When he’d said she could _always_ come by.

She wished that didn’t hurt so much.

* * *

For once, Hermione hadn’t called Harry down to watch her drown her sorrows, either in water or spirits. She hadn’t drowned them on her own, either. She found herself in a peculiar state where she was actually coping fairly well as long as she didn’t dwell on what had happened. This meant that she wasn’t about to invite talk about Draco. Talking would hurt. As long as she didn’t talk about it—or think about it at all—there was only a kind of pain-tinged numbness inside her. It would probably go away in time as those things usually did. At least she hoped so.

For the next several excruciatingly slow days, life went on.

Harry tended to look at her oddly, but by now even he must know that Draco had left. He probably wondered why she didn’t mention it, but she simply couldn’t. Not yet. It would be too embarrassing to break down in front of Harry when they could do nothing but agree that she should have known better. He didn’t push her to talk about it, though, and she appreciated that more than she could ever put into words. Possibly, he had other reasons for not inviting a heart-to-heart, like, say, being sick of the subject matter and occupied with his own love life, but that didn’t lessen her appreciation.

But then suddenly one day, Hermione found herself with a somewhat peculiar request from Harry. He always had his very good reasons, however, so it didn’t even occur to her to question it. She saw it as a welcome distraction.

* * *

That night at quarter to nine, Hermione arrived at the pub. Before doing anything else, she headed straight for the loo, where she double-checked her appearance. Her hair was still neatly swept up under the wide-brimmed pointy hat, sporting a bit of a veil and a jaunty yellow flower of indeterminate species. Her old crocheted shawl was drawn tight, and her dark shapeless robes were covering her—for this particular occasion—more than ample bosom and dragging on the floor. As for her face... Draco probably wouldn’t have approved of her use of make-up, or magic for that matter. Her nose was large and hooked, her eyes sunken, and her skin appeared to be wrinkled. She smiled and the teeth were yellowish and uneven.

Ok, so maybe she’d gone a bit overboard. But it was the most fun she’d had in ages, so why not? It wasn’t every day that her best friend asked her to mask as a crone. Most of the time he let her pick her own disguises and they tended to be a lot more subtle.

Although usually he told her _why_ he needed her to be less recognisable. One time, he’d needed a suspect to believe she was an Auror, because real Aurors were bound by some stupid outdated law about what they could and could not disclose without the suspect being represented, whereas she would be able to retell everything she had heard to the Wizengamot..

She had no question whatsoever in her mind that this must also be important, so she was a crone, no questions asked.

Feeling remarkably good about herself, considering her current level of attractiveness and the morality of her endeavours, she hurried back into the main room of the pub so she could be in place before the assigned time. To her surprise, Harry was already there, standing a bit off to the side from the seat she was supposed to take, eyeing her sceptically.

As she slid into her seat, he muttered, "Hunch your shoulders, woman. Your posture is too youthful. And the face is too overdone. Please get rid of it, it’s unsettling. He shouldn't be able to see you that closely, anyway."

She raised an eyebrow at him but did as he asked. It was a pity. She’d especially liked the touch with the teeth. Maybe she could use it for Halloween and scare some kids into remembering to brush after gorging themselves.

Behind her she heard Harry slide into the seat with his back to her on the other side of the low divide. Then he changed his mind, switching to the opposite end of his table. When he’d finally settled, he began fidgeting. Odd. He wasn’t usually nervous.

She ordered a drink from the barmaid. Gillywater in a low-stemmed glass with a red umbrella. A fitting drink for a crone.

She was taking her first sip, when she heard _his_ voice and choked. 

"Potter. You simply couldn’t let me leave the country without getting the last word, could you?"

* * *

Eyes watering, Hermione slowly put her glass down and took great care to swallow before making a few small delicate coughs to get the burning liquid out of her windpipe.

So this was why she must be so completely altered in looks. Harry was a dead man as soon as she got her hands on him. She really wanted to turn around and glare, but she was afraid that Draco wouldn’t be quite seated yet and would notice her. She thought she'd heard him sit down, but she couldn't be completely certain. She had to wait a suitable amount of time and then slip out. Once she'd done that she didn’t quite know what she was to do with herself or how exactly she would kill Harry, but so far poison played a large part in her plans. Maybe she’d go straight to the library to research painful yet untraceable poisons.

She vaguely registered that they weren’t being very chatty behind her. Really. Harry went through all the trouble of forcing her to listen to his conversation with Draco and didn’t even talk to him? Pathetic. She took a great gulp of her drink.

"So..." Harry finally said, sounding wary. Good. He probably realised how angry she was. "You’re leaving the country?"

Smooth, Harry. Smooth.

"Yes. Leaving for the mainland tomorrow. Feel free to not send me any Christmas cards." The words were clipped as if Draco felt forced to reply. Well, hah. He deserved to be annoyed by this as well.

"Oh? How long are you staying there then?"

"Probably forever. You can throw a party for getting rid of me if you’d like. I’ll be busy neither knowing nor caring."

Harry didn’t take the bait. "I see you’re using a cane. That’s new."

"Yes, well, since I’m leaving, I really don’t give a damn any longer if anyone around here starts gossiping about my health. Or lack thereof."

"Right."

Another silence. Really. Hermione had imagined a lot of things coming from this conversation, but being bored out of her skull wasn’t something she would ever have anticipated—yet here she was.

"Why am I here?" Draco finally asked.

"You know why."

"I thought I did but you don’t seem much like a jealous boyfriend. Pity, really."

"You’d want me to be jealous?"

"I’m already leaving. Having you breathe fire because of my transgressions would only sweeten the deal."

Hermione winced. As far as motivations went...

"I’m sorry I can’t do that for you," Harry was saying, not sounding particularly bothered by Draco’s vitriol. Of course, Harry was right not to be bothered. It was only to be expected that Draco would enjoy getting one over Harry.

"So what’s the point of this meeting?"

"You don’t think sharing a drink is enough reason?"

"No. I think we’ve shared enough, don’t you?"

Hermione flinched and began clumsily fiddling with the stem of her glass to distract herself from the embarrassment. He was so crude. It was clearly to bait Harry, but it still stung that he’d talk about her like that.

"Aren’t you going to ask _why_ I’m not the jealous boyfriend?"

"I’m already going; what’s the point of you being jealous now?"

"Try again."

There was a slight pause. "I was afraid of that," Draco then said, in what was possibly his first truly inoffensive comment since he’d entered the pub. "She really did lie to me, then? About you."

At this point Hermione wished she could see their faces or their body language or, frankly, _anything_. Since her secret was out she would at least have liked to know how Draco felt about it, but as it was, all she had to go by was his voice. Voices really carried more emotion when coupled with a facial expression.

"You don’t seem surprised that she did."

"No... Unfortunately, I had my suspicions. She’s not that adept at lying." He sounded less than pleased.

"I don’t think she thought you wanted anything to do with her if she weren’t involved with me."

Again there was a subtle pause before Draco replied, "She was probably right."

Hermione’s hands knotted in front of her on the table, her knuckles turning white as that statement hit her full force. _She was probably right._ Whoever had first said that the truth hurt had greatly understated the case. Disappointment rolled through her, squashing those small hopes she didn't even know she'd had.

"Why?" Harry asked. But Hermione felt it was useless since the game was already lost. Draco was leaving. He'd only wanted her because he'd thought she was with Harry. _What else was there?_

"You know why."

Hermione was getting really annoyed with that answer.

"Actually I don’t," Harry said. "I rather thought..."

"What? That I’d want her for myself? What would I do with her? Really, do tell me. And don’t forget that I’m going to live in another _country_ while you’re at it."

To Hermione’s great relief, Harry ignored the question to focus on something else and change the subject. She didn’t honestly want to sit and listen to a discussion of why Draco didn’t want her. Yet all thoughts of leaving had long been forgotten in the midst of her morbid curiosity. "Why _are_ you leaving?" Harry asked.

Draco seemed to merely shrug at the question. "Medical reasons."

"I thought you were getting better," Harry said.

"So did I. My body disagrees."

_What?_ Oh, no. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying.

Apparently this new information had shocked Harry as well. "For how long?" he asked, his voice so quiet Hermione could barely make it out over the general murmur of voices. Business was picking up in the pub and the noise levels were rising with it.

"Why would you care, Potter? Why would you give a damn about _any_ of this? Aren’t you simply happy to finally see me go?"

"It’s hard for me to be happy about it when she’s not."

_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

Draco snorted. "Spoken like a true not-boyfriend, mate. You should reconsider that position. Not that you shouldn’t do that anyway simply for the benefits. She has a couple of truly spectacular—"

"Spoken like a true _friend_ , Malfoy," Harry thankfully cut him off. "You didn’t even tell her goodbye, did you?"

"There wasn’t much need to. We were done."

"She was done or you were done?"

"Both, I guess. Does it even matter? She's not going to miss me."

"You’re wrong."

"Am I, now?"

"Did you even consider how she would react to finding you gone?"

"I figured she would be pleased not to have to risk running into me at work any longer. It would save her a lot of energy spent _hiding_."

The scorn put into that last word made Hermione cringe. He was right, but... did he have to sound so cruel? It was fairly humiliating to know what he truly thought of her.

"You know better than that."

"All right. Then I suppose I figured she would be hurt, then angry, cursing my name. It hardly matters. In the end, it's all the same."

Was it possible to die from heartbreak? Hermione felt like she’d soon find out if it was. That chest pain she was quickly developing certainly _felt_ fatal. She grabbed the stem of her glass and lifted it to her lips, hoping to fortify herself.

Harry persisted. Right now she could really hate him. "Why doesn’t it matter? If you knew that leaving without a word would hurt her, then why didn’t you talk to her?"

"What would’ve been the point? What was ever the point?"

"She’s in love with you."

Hermione had been about to release her glass when Harry made the casual announcement, but when he did, she accidentally squeezed the stem too hard, breaking it and sloshing liquid over the side as the bowl tipped. She managed to catch it before any further damage was done, and wordlessly repaired the glass, but then she simply sat there, staring at the spilled drink and the soggy paper umbrella, unable to remember the simple spell that would clean it up.

Fortunately, it had all happened so quickly and with so little noise that the men behind her hadn’t noticed at all. But then again, maybe it would’ve been better if they _had_ noticed, so as to distract Draco from what Harry had just said.

What Harry had just said.

Hermione clasped her mouth, trying to keep in the sounds trying to escape as her eyes filled with tears. Why was he doing this to her? Hadn’t Draco made his indifference more than clear already? She could take the indifference and even the heartbreak that had seemed to be killing her even a moment ago, but this... _this_ humiliation, it was too much. She would have to bury herself under her covers and eat nothing but cake and never come out until she died.

"I really think you’re overstating the case there, Potter."

"No, she is. What are you going to do about it?"

"Even if it were true... Why should I do anything about it? I’m still leaving."

"You wouldn’t stay for her?"

"No."

The tears began to spill. There it was, ruthlessly put. Harry had completely humiliated her and it didn’t matter either way. All things considered, it was probably better Draco hadn’t said goodbye. At least when it was Harry saying these things, she could claim he’d misunderstood everything. She could only imagine if _she_ had said them and had to look him in the eye as he shrugged her off like that.

"That would hurt her to know." Harry sounded pained, like he was regretting his decision to have this conversation. Too little, too late. So very much too late. Hermione knew he could see her shoulders shaking but she was unable to stop them. It was all she could do not to make any sounds.

"Then you’re simply not going to tell her," Draco hissed, completely unaware of the situation. "It doesn’t have anything to do with her."

"Was she right then?" Harry asked. "Are you still in love with your ex?"

Draco jerked back with so much force that Hermione could feel him bump into the divide between their chairs. "What? She actually _told_ you that?" His voice was a fairly good impression of someone who’d had his confidences betrayed. Or something. Hermione was too busy trying to get herself under control to frankly care if she'd somehow stung him.

"Well, are you?"

"Why does that even matter?"

"Because I think that part bothers her the most. That she thinks you were with her, wishing she was someone else. I’d like to know if there’s at least _one_ good thing I can tell her about you."

Draco made an exasperated sound. "Why would you even mention me to her? But have it your way. No, I never wished for her to be someone else."

"But you’re avoiding the question. Should I take that as a yes to you being in love with your ex?"

"She's married, for God's sake!"

For one brief moment, before she could check herself, Hermione hated this ex of Draco's that had his love merely by existing somewhere in the world.

Then she reminded herself that it was hardly anybody's fault. In fact, if anyone were to blame, it was Hermione herself for letting down her guards so completely when she'd known it wouldn't bring anything good with it.

"And that matters to you?"

"Of course! It was over years ago! Trust Hermione to jump to such a conclusion." Something seemed to occur to him. "Merlin, _that_ was why...?" He groaned. "No matter. It’s probably better this way."

"Word to the wise, Malfoy. Don’t wax poetic about your ex when you’re with someone else."

"I was talking about my damn past. I hardly thought she’d make a thing out of it. I hadn’t seen my ex for years at that point."

_At that point?_

"At that point?" Harry echoed Hermione’s thoughts.

"Yes. There’s a certain kind of irony in the fact that I’m now actually moving to be closer to her, don’t you think?"

The last tiny piece of Hermione’s heart broke.


	10. Chapter 10

"You arsehole," Harry said, his voice quiet from shock. "Can’t you say anything redeeming? Anything at all?"

"Why would—" Draco cut off as realisation seemed to dawn on him and he shot to his feet, loudly knocking over his cane. "You didn’t!"

"Don’t worry," Harry’s voice had gone hoarse. "By now she probably hates us both so much she doesn’t care whether we live or die, much less who you’re planning to be with."

"I’m not planning to be _with_ anyone!" Draco almost shouted, his voice sounding like he might be looking around. Fortunately, nobody else in the pub really responded. Apparently a bit of drama was par for the course around here. Hermione hunched forwards, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. There was little hope of escaping now, but she could always hope he’d simply leave. "I was antagonising you, you nosy sod," Draco continued in a low growl. "She’s the leading specialist in—" He seemed to catch sight of something because he apparently lost his train of thought.

Hermione sat completely still, wishing he’d disappear. Or she'd disappear. Someone definitely needed to disappear.

"Go away, Potter," Draco then said.

"I can’t."

" _Leave._ "

"No."

Hermione finally gathered the courage to look up and over her shoulder, keeping her eyes veiled by the hat, and it became painfully obvious that she had been found out as Draco was staring right at her. "It’s all right, Harry," she said, surprised at the calmness in her own voice. "You’ve done quite enough."

"I know," he said. "I thought if only I dug harder..." He swallowed. "You know I just wanted to help."

"I know." That was all the concession she could make right now. It should be enough. Although she didn’t turn far enough to see him, she heard Harry's reluctant departure.

Draco was simply staring at her.

She shrugged. "He tricked me too," she said. "And I think it’s quite obvious he'd misunderstood a few things..." He’d certainly misunderstood how Draco felt, but at least now she could know that for certain. There was something to be said for closure. 

At least she hoped there would be, as soon as the pain went away.

He still didn’t talk. Clearly, he felt mortified. She didn’t blame him. He’d been rather frank in a way she was certain he’d never meant for her to hear. He could still be cruel, true, but not quite to that extent. He would've been kinder in saying the same things if he'd known she could hear him.

"Here’s what will happen," she said when he didn’t make a move to fill the silence that seemed to be stretching between them, even in the steadily noisier pub. "I will get up and walk away and we will each go on as planned. All right?" She got to her feet, quickly turning her back to him so there was a chance he wouldn’t notice she’d been crying and began walking away.

"Wait," he said, sounding a bit lost and confused and scrambling to pick up the dropped cane. "The part about my ex..."

She hesitated but didn’t turn back around to face him. Facing him seemed impossible right now. "It’s all right, Draco." 

"No, damn it. I didn't want to tell him, but she’s the leading specialist in treating chronic damage caused by unknown curses. They’ve been trying to get me to see her for years, but... I’ve been putting it off."

"I understand."

"Do you?" he sounded almost aggravated. "She’s living in Spain with her family. It’s not a trip I can make easily. Obviously, she can’t bring all of her equipment to Britain either, so that’s why I will have to leave."

Hermione nodded. It made sense, really. Everything made sense.

"I didn’t... think of her," he said. "With you, I mean."

She blushed. They were in a public place and she was dressed as a crone and he chose to talk about _that_? "I didn’t think you did."

"Then why won’t you look at me?"

She took a deep breath. It was a good question, really. "Because I don’t want to," she admitted. "I’d rather you simply follow your original plan and be gone without a word." She began walking again.

She didn't want to say goodbye to him in person. She couldn't. His mind was made up about what could and could not be done and there was nothing left to say.

Unfortunately, he was following her. "I’ll go," he whispered so low she almost missed it. "I don’t actually have much choice in that matter. Just... don’t..."

She waited for him to finish the sentence but he didn’t. They reached the door that led outside to the crisp night air. Noises could still be heard from inside the pub but out here was a separate reality, one cloaked in cool darkness. She preferred it out here. Out here she felt like she could hide better. Also, home was only a few steps and an Apparition away and she very much wanted to go home right now.

However, she had to ask. "Don’t what?"

"Don’t hurt. It’s not worth it."

"People don’t choose when to hurt, but I’ll keep your recommendation in mind." Wild dogs were currently fighting over her insides so she could hardly claim not to hurt. The funny thing was that right now she didn’t even care if he knew.

He moved in front of her, eradicating any vain hope that he hadn’t seen her face yet as she made the mistake of looking up and the light of a nearby lamp post illuminated her features.

"I might be getting worse, Hermione," he said, carefully studying her. She had to concentrate very hard on not wincing at what she knew he saw, all brought out to perfection by her hideous hat.

"I know."

"You don't want to deal with that."

"Thank you for thinking so highly of me." She was quickly losing patience with him. Why couldn't he simply be swift about it and _go_? She hadn't asked him for justifications. All she wanted was to be allowed to go home so she could cry over everything he had said tonight in peace.

"We could never be an option."

"No need to keep saying it. I heard you the first time."

"I have to keep saying it or I might forget." He looked genuinely upset. She supposed that he felt like he'd taken the only course of action available to him and needed her to agree with him.

"Look." She took a deep breath. "Of course you have to go. I’m not asking you to stay. I’d never ask you to stay." She felt a powerful pang in her chest as she said it. No, she'd never ask him to stay, but she wished that things were different so she wouldn't have to accept his going. "You need to take care of yourself. It’s very fortunate that you seem to have inspired your ex-fiancée to become the very person who could save you. Harry was simply... he’d misunderstood the situation with us."

"If he'd misunderstood that badly, then why were you crying?"

Her back stiffened with betrayal at him thoughtlessly bringing that up to her face rather than accepting the excuse she had conveniently provided them both with. "Because I’d misunderstood a few things as well," she said. "At least when you were simply gone there could be doubts."

"And now there aren't?"

"Should there be?"

He looked away. "Probably not."

Every time she thought it couldn't hurt any more, he found another way to increase the pain. Why would he call her on her feelings like that if he wasn't _going_ anywhere with it? "I think we've said it all, don’t you?" She brushed past him without waiting for an answer. She needed to go home and spend the rest of the night _not_ thinking about never seeing him again.

She’d only just made it a few steps when he grabbed her arm and forced her to turn around.

She tore her arm free. "What do you want now?"

"I'll be damned if I know, really!" His expression was almost panicked. "I just... feel like you shouldn't go right now. Not like this. Not when things are so... ugly between us."

She was running out of charity. It was like he wanted everything but wasn't prepared to give even the tiniest bit back. He'd never given her anything but empty flattery and love-making that didn't mean anything to him. "No, it would've seemed prettier to you if you hadn't had to actually deal with me, wouldn't it?"

"Damn it, Hermione!" Draco gritted out. "You were avoiding me. I thought you were with _Potter_. How was I supposed to know you’d feel anything at all about me leaving?"

Hermione flinched. She might be above caring that he _knew_ but she really could live without him constantly mentioning it. "You weren’t supposed to know," she forced out past her hurt and humiliation. "You weren’t supposed to know any of it. Harry took that away from me and I will never forgive him that."

For a moment, Draco looked completely taken aback. "You're not _actually_ saying...?"

"Oh, wouldn’t it be convenient for you if I denied it?" she scoffed, getting angrier by the second and deliberately using it to push back those stupid tears she didn't want him to see. "I deny it and you go off, happy to be rid of someone you _don’t know what to do with_."

"You think I want things to be the way they are?"

"No, of course you don't! It's not like you could have chosen to go in any number of ways that would have made me understand and yet chose to... do this!"

"I didn't _choose_ for you to overhear my conversation with Potter. I had no idea you were there!"

Hermione deflated a little bit. "No, I suppose you didn't."

"Neither did I have any idea you had feelings for me."

She closed her eyes, her cheeks burning from the constant mortification of this conversation. "Could we stop talking about that? Preferably forever?"

He swallowed. "I regret starting anything with you."

"Oh, we've moved onto your regrets now? That's—that's just lovely. Because I was just wondering how to make tonight _any worse_."

"I should _never_ have touched you," he forced out through clenched teeth. "Don't you see? It would never have come to this. I thought I could control it."

"But those robes were too gorgeous, I know."

"No, it was you!"

"Clearly it wasn't me, or we wouldn't be having this conversation." Her voice threatened to crack and she hated it. Tears threatened to spill again and she hated that even more. It made her furious at him, herself, and the whole world that she should be reduced to this, and for what? It was all her own fault because she didn't know how to guard her feelings better.

"I don't know what to say to that, Hermione."

That did it. "So maybe I’m not perfect like some stupid outfit—" once again she was reminded how she was dressed right at this moment and she tore off her hat and threw it to the ground "—I’m an actual _person_ and we can’t have that, can we? So you leave me behind, not bothering to say goodbye, and play the martyr for sparing me your presence, is that it?"

"No!"

"Here, unfortunately I don't have the other robes to give to you as a parting gift, but have this set!" She tore at the ugly robes and the padding, not caring that she'd be cold in the thin clothes she'd worn underneath, throwing it to the ground. "Why don’t you remember _this_ version of me instead? What’s the matter? Not glamorous enough for you?"

He stared at the clothes on the ground for a moment but then shook his head. "What do you want from me?"

Her chest clenched again. "Nothing." He clearly hadn’t taken a million hints. He wasn't going to suggest that they work something out. It made all the anger drain away, leaving only a hollow feeling inside her chest.

And with the hollowness came the realisation that she was now freezing. Draco seemed to notice that fact and hobbled over, heavily leaning on his cane, to put his cloak around her. She’d refuse but she was far too cold and unhappy to summon the will for it.

"I don't want you to worry about me," he murmured. "I'm past getting that kind of attention. It would be better if you could forget about me."

Instead of replying, she took the tiny step needed to get as close to him as she could and, before he could register what was happening, pulled down his head to place her cold lips on his. She wasn’t really working under the best of conditions, shivering even under his warm cloak, but she had to get her point through somehow.

His entire body stiffened and he didn’t respond immediately. She hadn’t counted on it. In fact, at this point she fairly figured this would be their last kiss. It was saturated with feelings of desperation and an early onset of bitterness on her end.

But at least she would _have_ a last kiss before he stubbornly left her behind.

He raised his hand, as if to push her away, but then hesitated when it touched her cold arm. He was surprisingly warm, considering how pale and thin he was.

_Just push me away one more time and be done with it._

His hand curled around her arm and he pulled her closer, deeper into his embrace, almost burning her. And his lips were so soft, so gentle, like they’d never dream of uttering the kind of hurtful things he’d say in a heartbeat if he thought it would get him the results he wanted. He was still leaning on his cane with his other hand and she realised she’d been keeping him on his feet for an awfully long time. He’d need to rest soon.

Her time was running out and she was beginning to panic. 

She forced herself to pull away and took some satisfaction in his unwillingness to let her go. But she couldn't let this kiss continue. Not when he was leaving her. She did allow his arms to stay around her, though. It felt so nice and it was merely one last little indulgence.

Draco finally managed to hoarsely say, "You’re so cruel."

"Funny. Here I was thinking the same about you." Hermione countered.

"You’re not making this easy."

"Good. I don't want it to be easy for you."

He looked down, his teeth gritted. He obviously didn't like hearing this. Then he looked straight into her eyes as he said, "You’ll get over it."

It was like he’d punched her straight in the chest. She couldn’t breathe for the agony, and her heart screamed at her to get the hell out of there before he mangled it so badly she’d never be able to put it back together again. She had no choice but to step back, out of his arms. Trust him to even ruin that small pleasure for her.

"Will I?" she asked, her voice strangled and breathless from her own internal struggle. "Like your ex-fiancée did?"

"She’s happily married now."

"She’s also the leading expert in treating curses."

He shook his head, dismissing her. When did he ever not dismiss her? He'd never actually wanted them to be together. Not even once had he looked at her and thought, _how can I make this happen?_

That knowledge hurt worst of all.

"That has nothing to do with her feelings for me," he said.

She swallowed, working hard to keep her tears back long enough to finish this. "Of course it does. You can hurt those who love you all you want, Draco. You can cut us to pieces with that treacherous tongue of yours and make us wish we’d never even met you. But whether we love you or not... that’s never going to be something within your control. Neither is whether we are happy without you. Your ex learned to go on with her life, but I can assure you that the one that has the _least_ credit for her happiness is you."

His face had become completely inscrutable at the mention of his ex's happiness. "You're wrong. She has the child she always wanted. Something I could _never_ have provided. And she has found her purpose."

"I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of adoption, then? Or is that another bit of pure-blood idiocy—to only want to raise biological children? As for her purpose, I think she found that the minute you were hit. You simply didn’t stay around long enough for it to mature."

He shook his head. "Look, Hermione, I just don’t think..."

"Don’t worry, I’m not stupid." Damn, the world was getting blurrier. "I realise you don’t care that Portkeys and Apparition are no issue for me and that you’re only using this excuse to be rid of me."

His eyes snapped to hers. "I’m most certainly _not_ —"

"I even realise th-that I’m nothing like your ex-fiancée to you." The thin front she'd managed to put on was truly beginning to crack. "I took a hint quite well, even before you had that talk with Harry. I only want for you to realise that you aren’t protecting anyone _but yourself_ by doing this."

"Hermione—" he began again.

"No!" She held up her hand. "No. I know. It's done. It's over. I hope you have a long and happy life." 

She knew when she was beat. She'd tried everything she could possibly think of and it hadn't changed a thing. It was time to stop embarrassing herself and start facing the facts.

He didn't love her or even want her enough to accept her love.

She Disapparated before he had a chance to grab her again and prolong her suffering.

* * *

Ignoring how she felt didn't seem to be an option for Hermione any longer. She felt _everything_. Yet whilst she knew she would be feeling like death on legs for a very long time, she'd already decided by the time the sun rose not to let it show.

Her pain was private.

Besides, it could hardly compare to someone who'd _actually_ lost something, could it? Draco wasn't dead, he was leaving her. Voluntarily. And they hadn't even been together to begin with, so who was she to make her own disappointment into more than it was?

Oddly enough, scoffing at herself didn't make her feel any better.

Still, she got out of bed. She ate. She bathed. She got dressed. She even put on makeup.

After this enormous effort, she congratulated herself, feeling like she deserved a medal for having such a great start, and even considered going down to Diagon Alley for lunch, to show everyone that she was _fine_.

Because she _would_ be fine, she'd decided. Maybe not today, but if she pretended to be fine long enough, sooner or later it would become the truth. She hoped.

But then there was a knock on her door.

She didn't particularly care for company right now, but answering the door would be a great first step towards showing the world that she was managing. Also, if it were Harry, she could slam it in his face. True, that would probably be a hint that she was somewhat affected, but the gratification would be worth it.

It wasn't Harry.

She blinked a few times at the blond wizard leaning against her doorpost, and then she slammed the door in _his_ face. How dare he! _Why_ would he even show his face here!? She frowned, realising there was only one way to answer this question, and then reluctantly opened the door again. He hadn't moved. He looked cautious but also a little amused.

" _What?_ " she greeted him. She had no patience for someone who could laugh in her face after hurting her so badly mere hours before. Okay, so maybe he wasn't laughing but that was definitely almost a smile. She couldn't take any more heartbreak right now. She'd reached her limit. Any more and she couldn't picture herself getting out of bed, let alone convincing the world that she was fine.

"You forgot your costume last night," he said as if that was a perfectly valid reason for him to be there. She had half a mind to slam the door in his face again.

"I didn't forget anything."

"Oh. That long walk all for nothing. And my leg is even aching quite a bit today..."

She narrowed her eyes at him. He wasn't carrying anything. It didn't take a genius to be suspicious... and a little hopeful in spite of her own best attempts to squash it. "Why are you here when you're leaving the country?"

"I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me in."

Reluctantly she moved aside because chances were that his leg actually _was_ giving him pain. She wasn't thrilled about his presence in her flat, though. What if she forgot her decision to be fine and began weeping again? "I still require an answer."

He carefully made his way past her into her sitting room and heavily sat down on her sofa. "I should've been on a boat about an hour ago."

_So soon?_ "Then why aren't you?" _Don't be here unless you mean it._ No, not even then. He simply shouldn't be here. Damn him for not allowing her to be fine.

"Because, Chubs, you made it impossible for me to go."

"What?"

He leaned forward. "If I'd gone, I would've never seen you again. After last night, I realised I couldn't. So I didn't."

The way he looked at her and the full meaning of what he'd said was undeniable. He couldn't go. Because of her.

_No_. She mustn't feel happy about that. She mustn't. Because then she would be the selfish one. She could never accept him like this. "That's ridiculous!" she forced herself to say. "What about your treatment?"

That broke his gaze as he looked away. "I don't need it."

His avoidance told her everything and her heart sank. "So you're just using me as your excuse not to go."

That clearly took him aback. "I'm what?"

"You're afraid of going and I'm convenient."

"That's not—" She raised an eyebrow at him and he cut off. "All right," he then admitted, "perhaps I am looking for excuses not to go. But this is partly why I didn't want to have to say goodbye to you!" He put his elbows on his knees and leant forward, burying his hands in his hair.

"Is it really that scary?" she quietly asked, trying hard to bury this new hurt. This wasn't about her. She could cry later. "Isn't it possible that she'll be able to cure you?"

"Forget about cures. She's my last hope of ever even learning what's wrong with me and what to expect. To know whether I'll live or die if no cure can be found. And maybe she won't be able to figure even that out and I'll be left with a lifetime of not knowing if I'll suddenly drop dead or if I have a chance of growing old." He swallowed. "So, no, it's not scary. It's bloody terrifying."

She sat down next to him and put her hand on his arm, even though she knew she shouldn't be touching him at all if she wanted to come out of this even somewhat intact. "You have to be on the next boat."

He raised his head again and shook it, still not looking at her. "That's in a week. And it's not even certain she'd agree to treat me any longer. She always did have a temper."

"Of course she'll agree," Hermione scoffed. Someone who'd chosen her life's vocation to save someone else didn't turn around and deny them treatment simply because they were scared and sabotaging themselves.

"Ok. She probably would. I'm still not going."

"Yes, you are."

He finally looked at her. "You want me gone?"

"You know better than that." 

"Then I stay."

She shook her head. How could she be with someone if it actively endangered his life? She couldn't and she resented him for putting her in this position. If he really wanted to give them a chance, it had to be in another way. "If you stay, I can't be with you."

He bared his teeth in an annoyed sneer. "Then what was last night?"

"Forget last night." Sometimes she very much hated her life. She didn't _want_ to have to be the one to reject _him_. Not even after all the crude and insensitive things she'd overheard him say yesterday.

"Forget last night?" He sounded incredulous. "Do you even realise what you're asking? You admitted you were in love with me! I didn't think that could ever happen."

_Please don't remind me_. "It should've remained a secret, considering the circumstances."

"That's not it, though, is it?" He seemed to deflate. "You don't want to be tied to someone who's sick. And it's not like I can't understand that. What do I have to offer?"

She had to grit her teeth against the implied accusation that she'd only want to be with someone who was completely healthy. "More if you go."

He sighed and shot her a dull look. "That doesn't even make any sense, Hermione. If I go, I'll lose you. But if I stay, I've lost you as well because you want to force me to go. I really can't ever win."

"We could attempt to sort something out," she carefully suggested.

"Like what? You'll grab a Portkey to Spain every other weekend? Every month? A couple of times a year? And if we _do_ sort something out, then what if—"

"Oh, sod your what-ifs!" Hermione hissed, fed up with this poor excuse for a wizard who wouldn't even _try_. "People die, Malfoy. Every day. It's awful but it's no excuse to _stop living_. And they break up too. And struggle with things like long distance relationships, infertility and obesity. How come you can’t see that life isn’t perfect and stop asking for all or nothing? I can't give you perfection, I can only give you _me_."

He stared at her in honest bafflement. "You really mean that?"

"Of course I mean it!" She hesitated, but then she gathered all of her courage and ventured, "And I've been thinking about taking a leave of absence anyway."

"Leave of absence?" he echoed.

"Yeah. I want to write a book. And if that goes well, maybe I'll write another. I heard Spain is nice this time of... well, all times of year, really." She wiped her suddenly clammy hands on her knees, trying in vain to tell herself to _stop_ being nervous. If he rejected her offer, it would be his loss. She had a life here too. A life without him, granted, but still.

She really ought to know better than to try to lecture herself at this point. She _never_ listened.

Draco's eyes were inscrutable. "And what about your job at the Ministry?"

She cleared her throat. "Well, it's come to my attention that I have this very competent assistant who's never had an opportunity to shine. Now he will get every opportunity he ever wished for. He could maybe even hire his own assistant."

A slow smile spread across his features. "You really are adorable."

"Adorable?" She was slightly piqued by this reaction to her offer of completely redesigning her life to be with him. She felt rather generous even _talking_ to him after last night! "I’m not your pet!"

His grin widened some more. "If I did have a pet, though, I’d absolutely call it Chubs."

"What, like a cat?" She was completely distracted by this odd turn of conversation.

"I was thinking more along the lines of an owl. You do have that owlish look." He reached over and tugged at one of her wayward curls.

"An owl!"

"Or a unicorn."

"That’s absurd! A unicorn’s not even a—wait, why are you suddenly joking?" She shot him a dubious glance.

"Aren't I allowed to be in a good mood? You just said you're coming with me, didn't you?" he asked, looking far too pleased with himself.

"I wouldn't say I'm coming _with_ you..." she said in a vain attempt to keep a little of her independence.

"Would this be the wrong time to tell you that I never returned the necklace and try to use it to bribe you to acknowledge that you're coming _with_ me?"

She blinked. "You stole it?"

"No, you ninny. I paid for it. I went back to the shop with money instead of jewellery."

She shot him a dubious look, but decided he couldn't know how she'd felt about that necklace. "Why?"

"Because it was a physical reminder of you. Of making love to you. I know you think I only found you beautiful because of the robes and necklace, but they mean nothing to me outside of the context that is _you_."

"And yet you kept the necklace and not me." She knew he could tell she was still hurt, but she hadn't completely forgiven him, not yet. Perhaps it was good that he knew that.

He swallowed and shot her a very cautious look. "I actually didn't mean to keep it. I wanted to give it to you, but I didn't know how. I wanted you to _see_ how I saw you that night. How you were the one to make that stupid mix of minerals and metal shine. But I knew you wouldn't accept that, so I just..." He shrugged. "I suppose it was a bad investment. I can get rid of it. Would you prefer that?"

Hermione shrugged a little awkwardly. This was a lot to parse. "Let me think about it for a while."

He pursed his lips. "I guess there's still time to argue about that as well then, but all in all you’re right."

"Of course I’m right!" She paused and frowned. "About what?"

"Life happens. And I want you with me. Besides, I _just_ remembered that I don't mind being selfish enough to ask you to come along." He pursed his lips. "But I have to warn you..."

Uh-oh. "About what?"

"My ex is going to have her revenge, one way or the other. I predict her at least making me very ill for a while. Intentionally."

Hermione relaxed a bit. "Oh, is that all? Good."

He shot her a rather resigned look. "Good?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "I think she deserves a bit of payback. You _were_ horrible towards her, after all. And now you aren't even on that boat! In fact, I'll be cheering her on to do her worst."

He seemed to be fighting a grin. "So... this is how you're planning on being supportive?"

"Pretty much."

"That’s just mean, Chubs."

She made a face at his nickname of choice. "Didn't you hear? Hell hath no wrath like a woman who has to endure the nickname _Chubs_."

"Guess I'll have to endure your wrath, then... Chubs." The hand that had been playing with her hair slid down to cover her neck.

"You're never letting it go, are you?"

"Never."

"Hm." She pondered that for a second. "Then I guess I'll have to lose weight."

"You _could_ labour under the delusion that that might work," he said and drew her closer.

Hermione was torn. On one hand, she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day kissing Draco, but on the other hand, she wasn't done sorting things out.

"What?" he asked, against her lips when she didn't immediately respond to the caress.

"Why do you call me Chubs if you supposedly find me attractive?"

He drew back and looked at her for the longest time. Long enough to make her squirm and wish she hadn't asked. "If you really don't like it, then I'll stop," he then quietly said. "It's just... it's come to mean something to me."

"What does it mean?"

" _You_. Everything I love about you. I don't simply mean curves; I mean... _you_. And it's a version of you that is all mine."

Damn it. When he put it like that, she couldn't argue. When he put it like that, it seemed like its own declaration of love, which made her feel like she was going to melt into a puddle at his feet.

But being Hermione, it also made her think of another question.

"So why did you try to set me up with Harry?"

"Ah. That." He grimaced. "I thought it was what you wanted."

She frowned. "I'm not certain I believe that."

"Believe it. I hated every second of it."

"So why did you still do it if you hated it so much?"

He shrugged. "Because I'd fallen for you and I thought it would make you happy. The way the two of you acted together. The jealous way he tried to warn me away from you. I was _trying_ to be selfless, you know."

"The what way he tried to _what_?" Hermione found that very hard to believe of Harry.

"Yeah. He caught me staring at you and issued a warning."

Peculiar. Annoying. Intrusive. Who was Harry to warn off anyone? Ugh, these men! "And that didn't make you try to get in my knickers immediately?"

"I might have tried, if I hadn't had such strong feelings for you."

She blushed. She definitely liked this conversation better than the one they'd had yesterday. Even if both Draco and Harry had been a couple of overbearing gits, trying to decide for her who she should be with. "Ah. I see."

"I also suppose that I felt I owed him a life debt or two. But if I hadn't thought you wanted him, I would never have tried to get the two of you together. My debt wasn't that big."

She couldn't help but grin at his priorities.

"But, Hermione?" Draco softly asked.

"Yes?"

"I just thought you might want to know, now that you're stuck with me, that you might want to be wary of my mother."

That sobered her a bit and she sighed. "I know. She'll hate me for being Muggle-born."

"No. I mean, sort of, yes, but that's not it. We'll cure her of that, eventually." He seemed to not even question that fact and it warmed Hermione like nothing else he could say.

"Then what?"

His eyes gained a mischievous glint. "You won't believe it, but she makes the best fairy cakes known to the wizarding world."

"What?" She drew back to give him an incredulous stare. "I refuse to believe that."

"Believe it. She has to spend her time doing something, doesn't she? You should see how she decorates them. Almost a pity to eat, really."

Hermione blinked a few time, trying to process this new information. "I knew that woman was pure evil!"

He sniggered and drew her closer again. "I think being with you is the best idea I ever had. Or worst. I'm leaning towards worst, so it's good I'm so fond of bad ideas."

"Technically, I think this was Harry's idea."

That wiped the grin from his face. "Crap."

"I know!" she agreed. "He'll be insufferable once he learns that it worked. He'll never stop meddling now."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "I vote that we never tell him. How would you feel about never talking to him again?"

She considered that for a very short time. "At the moment? Not that bad, actually."

"Good. Then that's settled. But I do have one problem."

"What would that be?"

"I missed my boat. I have no place to stay until the next one."

He was clearly lying, the opportunistic prat. He must have been staying with his parents until now. But two could play that game. "Oh, I'm certain we could work something out."

"Yeah?" The way he leaned into her was all suggestion.

"Yeah." An impish grin spread over her features. "Let me just owl Harry. You two do seem to get along so swimmingly, and after what he did to me, he'll _have_ to take you in. Now he owes me, after all, and we don't have to tell him a thing."

Draco scowled at her. "Come to think of it, I'm sure that won't be necessary."

"Of course it will!" she insisted. "We can't have you living out on the streets, can we? Besides, in case I do ever forgive Harry, it would be lovely if you'd made friends with him as well. What better way than to share close quarters for a while?"

The horrified look on Draco's face was all the answer she needed. She hid a smirk. She couldn't wait to see Harry's reaction when she told him about his new temporary flatmate. If that didn't teach the two men in her life not to try to manipulate her, nothing else would.


End file.
